


A Captive Love

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, First Time, M/M, Romance, Sci-Fi, Slavery, a moment of potential noncon, slavefic, twincest not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 87,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill has been raised his whole life knowing that once he comes of age, he'll be sold at the Grand Auction. As a slave, raised from a young age to be a courtesan, this is his fate.</p><p>What he doesn't know is how two chance encounters on the auction floor will alter his fate so drastically, the very foundations of his society will be rocked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Golden Spire

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks go to my beta-reader and story life support, ma_chelle, for her enthusiasm and all of her work helping me out, even when I dumped multiple chapters on her >_>; to pseudoblu for the breathtaking art and fabulous banner; and to kishmet for declaring: "BEST. SLAVE FIC. EVER." ♥

The sleek, silver-skinned craft rose up from an irised roof hatch, hovering a moment before gaining altitude and skimming past the outbuildings of an expansive estate sprawled amongst emerald-green swathes of lawn and rustic stands of trees. The craft, a personal flitter, darted like a swift silver fish swimming through the bowl of the sky, crossing over many hectares of land within heartbeats.

Within the luxurious interior of the private flitter, a tall, solid-bodied man with sandy blond hair reclined away from the controls and reached to his left, grasping a goblet from the nearby dispensation unit. "Take a good look, Tom," the man instructed with a satisfied sigh. "The lands of the Noble Kaulitz family." Jorg Kaulitz turned his head to observe the slender teenage boy in the co-pilot seat beside him, a youth wearing the loose flowing tunic and over-sized trousers that were in style with boys his age, rendered distinct from his peers by the crest of shaggy dark blond and brown dreadlocks kept bound back from his face.

"Yes, father," Tom replied, barely glancing up from his handheld mobile unit. He was playing a game that involved flashing chips that coursed across the screen, bursting in a glowing shower of sparkles when certain colors collided. "Lands of the family."

Jorg heaved a put-upon sigh. "You ought to be more interested in the lands you're going to run some day," he stated. He rotated his chair, balanced as it was on a single stem, and faced Tom to give him a greater share of his attention.

Tom froze the display on his unit and lifted his chin, brown eyes sparking defiance in a slim oval face that was still more pretty than handsome. "Then you ought to give me a greater share of running it now," he said pertly. "I'd be more interested."

"Watch your tone," Jorg snapped, but his expression wasn't too displeased. "You've only now reached your sixteenth year, and we'll see about more duties - and responsibilities - as it comes."

"I'm an adult now," Tom said, appearing smug about that fact.

"Indeed," Jorg said wryly. "Though you seem to have spent most of your adult time so far in partying and bringing home questionable bedmates."

Tom shrugged, turning his attention back to the mobile unit in his hand. "An advantage to being young, rich, and this damned good-looking."

Jorg laughed. The sound was curt and not particularly amused. "Well, this is your first Grand Auction as an adult. Try not to bleed my wallet too badly."

A sneer crossed Tom's young face, even that expression somehow appealing when rendered on Tom's refined, vaguely feline features. "I've told you before, I'm not interested in slave trafficking," he stated, setting aside his mobile with the air of one prepared to start a fight.

Jorg opened his mouth, closed it, and sat back in his chair, reaching for his goblet of wine again. He sighed. “The lots we'll be looking at today are the finest courtesans, groomed since their skill-set identification; as early as their infancy or genetic print analysis in many cases. Putting a label as base as 'slave' on them is like comparing a priceless sculpture to a pot thrown by a third-world laborer.”

“And yet, they don't have their freedom,” Tom replied, with a stubborn lift of his chin.

Jorg shook his head, assuming an expression of amusement. “Taking charge of the estate's affairs will involve managing our human commodities as well, at some point,” he reminded his son in a gentle tone.

“Is that the popular term?” Tom muttered, sending his chair tipping to the furthest limit of its reclining abilities and crossing his arms. “I'm not up on the latest Slave Quarterly.” He'd plucked a name for a fabricated info-feed out of thin air, but for all he knew it could be in existence.

“Regardless of your distaste, remember the purpose for which we go today,” Jorg said, sternness entering his tone. “It's not only to make select purchases to supplement our household coterie, but to introduce you to other Nobles. Do not leave a poor impression on allies and Houses with which I do business.”

“I'm well aware that you want me to keep my opinions to myself,” Tom said, replying with more than a touch of sarcasm. “Didn't you know, esteemed father? My controversial opinions are considered cutting edge political discourse.”

Jorg sighed and closed his eyes a moment as though begging Kwan Yin for patience. “I wish that you wouldn't watch that despicable libertarian's so-called newscast,” he complained. "You think you're so original, boy, but most of the ideas you're regurgitating come from his 'cast."

Tom smirked over at his father. “I think that David Jost has a lot of forward-thinking ideas that would be beneficial for society at large,” he asserted.

“If I believed that you watched his 'cast for that reason and not at least partly out of defiance to my conservative beliefs, I might take your opinion at face value,” Jorg grumbled, but there was no sting to his statement. “Regardless of David Jost's views, the country could not survive dismantling of the human commodity industry--”

Tom held up a hand, frowning, as though he'd foundered into a deeper wave of discussion than he'd planned. “I'm registering,” he said with an air of confession.

Jorg's dark blue eyes widened. “You're registering?” he repeated, and followed it up with a guffaw. “You're registering at the Grand Auction? But you resisted all of my suggestions when the subject came up before...”

Tom groaned and tipped his head back, stretching his arms over his head and causing his chair to sway precariously on the slender stem that kept it upright. “It's because I knew you'd react this way that I am telling you _now_ , rather than gaping in front of assembled Lords and Masters,” he said, settling back down and planting his feet on the metallic floor. There was a pugilistic set to his jaw. “I dislike the assumption I can't obtain my own bedmates that is implicit in the purchase of a courtesan.”

“Then, why...?” Jorg prodded.

“For Georg,” Tom said simply. “His birthday is coming up and I know he wants one. As a Master it's his right, but he and his family have been pouring all their fortunes into Universal's latest folly.”

“Say that quietly, if you say it at all outside this flitter,” Jorg said with a reflexive glance around the ovoid confines of the personal capsule.

Tom snorted, but didn't disagree. The Universal Corporation was tied closely to the Ruling Noble Family and had its hand in just about every venture from the human trafficking Tom disapproved of, to material production, to educational programs. He swiveled his chair and picked up his mobile unit, fidgeting with its touch screen but watching the scenery through the forward screen give way from green fields and forest to increasing traces of urban influence, buildings and domes, great structures created to resemble silver spirals and immense, glittering cages.

“Ah,” Jorg said, as the skyline of the sprawling city filled the entire forward view. It glinted all shades of metallic brilliance in the waning sun, burnished gold and bronze and silver, hematite and obsidian, polished marble and corundum and hammered steel. There were tall buildings that challenged the sky, and squat functional blocks that stooped low to the ground.

Tom couldn't see far enough down to catch sight of any ground walks, but he saw the glimmering threads of sky-paths spanning from building to building. He kept his arms folded in a stubborn pose, but a smile curved his lips. The first sight of the shining city of Berlin never failed to send a thrill through his chest, and set his mind aflame with the awe that kindled him every time. Regardless of the reason they were there, a visit to Berlin was always worth the time.

The silver flitter came to a hovering stop outside one of the circular Gates that ringed the city. It paused long enough for a cool blue field to envelop the craft, thrumming with energy that made Tom clench his back teeth against the odd sensation, and the flitter continued on its set course after the capsule had been scanned, registering the personal insignia of the Noble House Kaulitz.

They joined the sparse traffic weaving through buildings and around sky-walks. Tom braced an arm against his chair and chinned his hand, taking in as much of the shining city as he could. The flitter darted for one of the taller buildings, a towering golden spire that took up an entire grid-space on its own and competed with its neighbors for prominence in the sky.

Jorg took control of the flitter as they neared docking, glancing at Tom in silent inquiry.

Tom shrugged and waved his father on. He enjoyed driving the flitter, especially when he hadn't particularly been allowed to do so unsupervised before coming of age, but docking was a trickier procedure than flying and he had no desire to do so under his father's watchful eye.

There were several caste levels to the golden spire of the Interscope building, from the Ruling Noble floor near the top – naturally – to the service entry for the slaves. Or human commodities, as Tom was accustomed to hearing his father call them. Jorg guided their personal flitter to the level intended for the Noble Families. It was his aspiration to some day elevate the Kaulitz name to High Noble, Tom knew, but that would probably require a considerably advantageous marriage or more acquisitions during Jorg's lifetime than the rich quintupling of assets he had overseen during his twenty years as Head of the Kaulitz family thus far. It was a far cry from the Grand Master title to which Tom's grandfather had been born.

Servants in rich livery awaited outside the docking area, milling around as they waited to welcome the arriving Nobles to the lavish Interscope building that was hosting this year's Grand Auction. As they emerged from the newly-docked personal craft, a young woman with neat brown hair pinned back in a low coif greeted them with a bow that was held the precise length of time and the degree considered proper to acknowledge Jorg's station. She straightened with a coolly professional face. She was lovely, Tom couldn't help but notice, and wore a freewoman's insignia at her collar. She was neither slave nor Master, and not of the less exalted Merchant class, either.

Tom wondered why Interscope would employ staff for greeting functions such as this when surely they would be working with the merchants to put the slaves – the human commodities – on display in advance of the sale. He was about to touch his father's sleeve and ask when the woman spoke.

“Greetings, Head Lord Noble Kaulitz and Lord Noble Kaulitz, and welcome to Universal's fifth Grand Auction here at the Berlin Interscope. I am Padma, designated to guide you to registration or your quarters, from which you may also register. The Grand Auction opens in three hours, as you may be aware, and a variety of commodities are on display on the Palladium floor, which offers forum-style open air viewing during the time leading up to the auction.”

“Interesting personal touch,” Jorg murmured, not bothering to return the freewoman's greeting.

Tom gave the woman a smile and a short nod, as a Lord could offer to anyone of lesser status. Because the freewoman was neither Master nor Merchant class, technically he didn't need to provide her with any sort of acknowledgment. He'd found that a pleasant attitude in addition to his good looks tended to get him further than some of his peers, who sometimes acted as though those of lower caste weren't worthy of existence.

“We can check in at our quarters?” Tom questioned, speaking more to his father than the dark-haired Padma.

Jorg grunted. “I booked a pair of suites, but checking in there means missing out on priceless networking opportunities. Take heed of that,” he said, casting a sardonic glance at Tom's mobile unit. “Interfacing through your mobile to the exclusion of face to face contact can cause you to skip valuable bio-feedback.”

“Got it,” Tom said, bored and looking around at the many bays in the Noble-level docking area. Several slots were already lit up with the insignia of their Houses, and Tom saw the Noble House Kaulitz crest light up the display panel beside their flitter as they walked down the thin metal gangway that led into the building proper. He glanced at Padma and spoke to her. “Your services, freewoman?”

“Guide and concierge,” Padma responded promptly. Her oval face was pleasant and blank, with no hint that she'd have any extra accommodations for Tom's youth and beauty.

Tom shrugged and smiled faintly as his father's shoulders stiffened. Why purchase a bedmate, his thoughts ran the familiar course, when he could procure one without dropping a single _lir?_ If not Padma, then surely some freewoman or man within Interscope would catch Tom's eye, and the feeling would be mutual.

The wide hallways were crimson limned in gold, and arched overhead to form a four-pointed summit at equidistant intervals. As Padma led them through the hallways, which were easily wide enough to fit two flitters side by side, Tom couldn't help but notice there were very few people traversing the echoing length of black and silver flecked marble flooring.

"I knew I should have blocked time earlier in the day," Jorg said, echoing Tom's observation. "All the Nobles and Masters will be on the Palladium floor by now, appraising potential buys...and they won't synch the pedigrees of the inventory to our mobile units until we register in person."

"Why is that?" Tom said curiously.

"Partly to level the field, I suppose," Jorg replied. "Though it all comes down to who's willing to spend the most _lir_ for what, in the end. I pride myself in never going over the budget I set for supplementing our coterie, but of course, there are those that get caught up in the thrill of bidding."

Tom nodded, but the greater share of his attention was fixed on the view of the city skyline from outside the window immediately to their left. There were a few flitters darting back and forth across the high-lane traffic, but mostly the sights were of the gilded buildings of the city, glass windows sparkling as the sun sank out of view, some point to the other side of Interscope. He understood wanting to win, but the prospect of his father bringing home people who would fill Jorg's bed, or that of one of their Noble House's guests, still didn't sit well with him. He'd grown up with someone he had considered a friend, Andreas, who had become a playmate of one of his father's business associates before being sold as a human commodity.

As someone who wasn't allowed access to a mobile unit, nor acknowledged as being anything but property, of course Tom had never heard from him again.

The embitterment had only deepened when, whilst deep in his cups at a friend's estate, he had danced and dined with a lovely young blond, Ann-Kathrin, who'd turned out to be a courtesan instructed to provide him with entertainment and “release.” She'd been willing enough but Tom had perceived it as something of a betrayal, unable to shake the sense he'd been duped. 

He had been careful to look for a courtesan's marque or insignia ever since.

“Tom,” Jorg's voice brought him back to the present with gentle reproof.

“Hmm?” Tom looked up from the polished marble floor and realized that his father and Padma had entered a nearby cable lift. “Oh, right.”

The panel of the cable lift had row upon row of buttons inscribed with elemental symbols. Padma touched one and the lift clanked into motion, making Tom cast a mistrustful upward glance at the distressing noise of the machinery. It subsided once they passed a few floors.

On the Palladium floor, the lift opened its doors onto a scene more chaotic than the quiet of the docking floor. A vast, domed chamber spread out before them. The floor of this level was a steely, polished silver hue, reflective and dizzying. The dome overhead had been tiled with a mosaic of a blue sky webbed with drifting white clouds. Tom blinked as he saw one of the clouds _drift_. They were interactive display tiles. The amount of staggering wealth in the ceiling alone made Tom's jaw drop like any unlettered country freeman's upon seeing the city's delights for the first time.

Across the far wall, mounted between two supportive columns, a wire framework held up an elaborate working of cogs and rivets atop a pair of crossed hammers, the emblem of the German Resistance that had overthrown the rule of the Fuchuan Dynasty a few hundred years back. The men who had been key to the Resistance had become the first High Noble families, and the acknowledged mastermind of the revolution, Franz Braun, had become the first Ruling Noble.

Padma was ushering them along to the far wall, where open workstations were situated between intricate trellises of climbing ivy and blooming blue roses.

“You may check in here, Head Lord Kaulitz,” the woman told him.

“You've discharged your duties,” Jorg told her with a wave of his hand.

Padma bowed. “If you need further service, any Interscope staff will have me return to your side and any building terminal has a 'help' feature that will summon me.”

Tom gave the woman another smile and a wave, which she acknowledged with another bow and, as she rose, the first hint of an amiable expression crossed her face. Tom winked at her and could swear the woman flushed, but she turned and hurried off, low heels clacking over the floor, before he could confirm it.

To the right, a series of open doors opened onto what seemed to be an immense cavernous space, from the choral echoing that filtered into the anteroom as well as the glimpses Tom could catch. Tom began to head for those doors, which had actual staff stationed at each one of them.

Jorg's hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Aren't you going to register?” His dark blond brow furrowed.

“I thought...” Tom made an abortive move and slipped his hands into his baggy, low-riding pockets. “Was going to look, I guess. Browse around a bit.”

Jorg shook his head. “You have to register in order to view the wares.”

Tom sneered a bit at Jorg's euphemistic term. “The slaves, you mean.”

Jorg sighed. “Don't be difficult. The skilled commodities.”

“As you say,” Tom said, without parroting his father's term back at him. He sighed and made sure there were no other nobles within their immediate vicinity before continuing, “May as well get on with it, then.”

Jorg looked at him with the indulgent expression he tended to turn on Tom at the discovery or confession of whatever his parent considered youthful folly. “I have never seen a boy newly of-age so reluctant to go browse for his first courtesan.” He turned away from Tom to head for the screen of the nearest terminal.

"Oh, I'm registering," Tom said, shooting his father a narrow look as he stepped up to the head of the queue and took an open interface panel. He laid his hand flat on the touch-sensitive screen and the Noble House insignia of Kaulitz flared to life at his touch above his spread fingers. "But I'm not here to buy for myself."


	2. A Rare Beauty

The roar of the crowd lapping over the senses was like the ocean. Not that Bill had ever seen a real ocean, but his imagination was good and he'd seen plenty of vids. When he closed his eyes, he pictured floating away, up and into the air that was thick with conversation colliding around him from all sides, screeches and laughter and blue smoke from the narco-pipes that were allowed indoors. A mix of apprehension and excitement swirled in Bill's veins, no help at all in keeping him tethered to the ground.

By tonight...within _hours_...Bill would have a Master. A Lord, perhaps. Or even...

A hand weighed heavily on his shoulder, causing Bill to open his eyes and recall yet again what was keeping him grounded.

“Toe the line,” Martin said in his ear. “I want you out there so they can see you proper. The more eyes on you, the better they know what they're bidding for.”

Bill rolled his eyes and twisted away lithely from Martin's touch, making it look like a graceful shrug. He stepped forward, adjusting the drape of his sleeveless red robe. A pang of disappointment soured his stomach. Benjamin should be here – the one Merchant who'd tended to Bill's upbringing as though he truly cared for Bill's wellbeing, and not simply the _lir_ that would fatten his House's account once Bill was sold.

From an early age, Bill recalled Benjamin singling him out from other children, encouraging him to sing, permitting him liberties, spending time with him. It had been Benjamin who'd pushed for the testing that had gotten Bill cloistered from the other children, raised with more advantages, better clothes, food, exercise, training, _music_...the ways in which Bill had paid for it, loneliness and an occasionally gaping sense of wanting, were things he had come to accept.

The great hall was a riot of color. As Bill stepped up to the line outside the Merchant Ebel booth, the excitement fought his giddy nerves for prominence. He could see at a glance who was commodity to be sold and who possessed the rank that would allow them to buy. Like his peers, Bill wore a standard-cut singlet robe that draped him from collarbones to ankles. It was a far cry from his preferred style, which was fitted and bold and would have put him on display far better, but during viewing hours the singlet was what all slaves were permitted. The insignia that marked Bill as a commodity adorned one blade of his high collar, and the insignia of Merchant House Ebel was pinned to the other.

When Bill was much younger, he recalled Benjamin asking him in the course of regular conversation whether Bill preferred boys or girls. _Dunno,_ had been the answer, with a simple shrug, then he'd gone back to his diverting pursuits, playing at games that he'd realize later were the precursor to learning a courtesan's skills. 

The question had been a recurring one as he grew older. Benjamin had been kind about it in his curiosity; the inflection had never carried judgment, or a hint that Benjamin wanted Bill to answer a particular way. As Bill grew older, he realized that Benjamin meant sex. Did Bill want to have sex some day with boys, or girls?

Even knowing in an abstract way that some day he would be sold to someone who'd have that from him, the significance hadn't fully penetrated until Bill was about fourteen. By then, he'd been kept from that kind of contact with any of the commodities in his compound, more securely chaperoned than a High Noble youth being groomed for arranged marriage. Bill's eventual union wouldn't be nearly so lucrative, but it was safeguarded as zealously.

Face burning, Bill had confessed to Benjamin that he only thought of boys when he considered himself in a sexual way, which wasn't often given his circumstance. He was constantly surrounded by attendants, green-robed women who had no interest in men. He dreamed, though. The hands on him that caressed him in his sleep, fever dreams of liquid need, were long and fine-fingered and unmistakably male. The press of hot lips to his were firm and masculine.

Today on the Merchant Ebel line, standing with one hip cocked out, as Bill sent his kohl-lined eyes over the amassed people in as much appraisal as that which was showered on him, Bill wore the red singlet that marked him as a young man who could only be purchased by a male bidder. There were few rights that ensured the protection of commodities such as Bill, but ensuring that courtesans were partnered with those of compatible sexuality was one of them. When Bill went up for auction today, the only registered attendants of the Auction allowed to bid for him would be males.

He glanced down the line of the golden grid that had been inscribed out in front of House Ebel's booth. Bill belonged to one of the lesser merchant houses, but knew that Martin expected the House to profit highly from his sale today. There were a few other commodities on the line with him: two green-robed women, one of whom had been his attendant for a few years and was no longer needed by the House now that Bill was being sold; a young woman in a blue singlet, also virgin, also intended for male bidders, and three handsome men ranging from youth to middle years whose stud services were in surplus at the House. Two men wore the golden-yellow that indicated they were for female bidders, and the youngest of them wore a vibrant orange that meant either gender could bid.

During the trip to Interscope, Martin had taken him aside and plied his ear, trying to coax him to don an orange singlet as Jarold had.

Bill rubbed at one smooth-skinned bare arm. He'd cinched a bracelet there to disguise the bruise that Martin had left on his pale skin. Even though his sale could soar into six digits if he were to be available to either gender, he had no interest in women and he couldn't change that fact to suit Martin.

His gaze passed over the dense crowd of nobles, merchants, and masters circulating through the wide, high atrium of the display hall. The auction would be conducted in the adjoining auditorium. For now, people circulated, chatting, appraising potential courtesans, roving with hungry gazes and fat wallets. Two older men had stopped so far to pinch Bill's chin, tilting him this way and that, eyes roaming down his singlet where they dared not touch. It was why he'd retreated from the line, drawing toward the booth where Martin sat keeping an eye on his mobile unit, rather than his House's commodities.

Fleetingly, Bill wished that he could tell potential buyers from the crowd. Women, he could rule out completely. Men interested in purchasing him – that was another matter. Freemen weren't color-coded as the slaves were; they could wear skirts, trousers, and tunics of any color. Some wore formal robes, as Judges did, though of multiple colors rather than severe grey. There were a few young, handsome ones and Bill looked wistfully to a group of youths around his own age as they passed, laughing and gesturing. None of the handsome young men gave him more than the startled double-take that meant they'd noted his looks, and the fact that he wore a red singlet denoting the fact that he was male.

He remembered the parting words that Benjamin had whispered to him as the older merchant had stopped by for one last chaperoned visit. _“Do you wish to be happy, Bill?”_ That had been before Benjamin had been declared unfit to attend this year's Grand Auction, taking suddenly to his bed in what was declared stomach trouble, but house gossip circulated rumors of mild poison. _“Think about what it would mean to you, to be happy.”_

Bill struck another confident pose, hand settled to his hip, as another group of people passed by, noble in bearing and collar insignia.

His first thought in response to Benjamin's words had been manumission. It wasn't a goal for most slaves so much as Bill knew it was a cherished fantasy. Everyone dreamed of freedom no matter how out of reach it seemed. For someone of Bill's looks, he knew, freedom might be eventually within reach. Beloved courtesans were often granted manumission after years of service. The Ruling Nobles themselves had set that precedent. Former courtesans weren't eligible for a rise in status, of course; they could not aspire to anything beyond freeman or freewoman. But they could no longer be bought or sold. They could choose their own partners, acquire their own property, even...marry. They were in charge of their own destiny.

A part of Bill that he would not let himself consider fully was very much aware that he'd be giving over his virginity as well as his person by the end of the night.

Benjamin's soft-spoken words had made Bill consider what he, Bill, wanted. All his training had led up to pleasing another, considering someone else's wishes and needs above his own.

Given free reign in thought, if nothing else, Bill realized he wanted someone as Benjamin had been to him. He wanted someone who would coax and encourage the best from him, permitting him license to be himself. Beyond that, he wistfully hoped for someone who would be everything to him, however unlikely that prospect was.

There were a range of tales he'd been assailed with, from commodities who were mere furniture to their masters, something to be used and sold when their usefulness was past. At the other end of the spectrum were the courtesans who found love, who went to one master with whom they remained their whole lives, even after manumission.

Bill was a romantic. He wanted that kind of love.

He also, rather forlornly and perhaps foolishly, wanted someone _attractive_ to him, as well. When a large, sweating man had placed hands on him earlier, Bill had suffered with silent revulsion until Martin had roused enough to chase the man away. Even so, Martin's intervention had been for handling the merchandise without a bribe, rather than taking personal liberties with Bill.

It had driven home the point that he would be _sold_ , and Bill had no say in the matter, no veto.

His master would be a man, and that, Bill's sexual preference, was the only control he exercised over the terms of purchase.

A group of loose-robed men approached the Ebel block, and more than one paused, taking a second glance at Bill. They were older, not yet approaching middle age but past the flush of youth, though they still wore the flowing tunics and baggy trousers of young men a decade or so their junior. They looked somewhat rough, and the man at the head of the formation had close-cropped dark hair and a firm, stubbled jaw.

Bill's lips moved in a soundless prayer to Parvati as the men milled around. He didn't want them to approach; they were master class, from their insignia, but had the appearance of laborer freemen.

Nonetheless, he couldn't look away from the stare of the man out in front. He held Bill's gaze until Bill dropped his eyes, abashed. He could still feel the man's dark eyes on him like a physical imprint.

“Aren't you a pretty thing?”

Bill lifted his chin to the realization that the man stood directly in front of him. He recognized him at closer range. His face was all over music vid 'casts, and Bill, with his interest in music, had seen him before, many times.

“Grand Master Bushido!” Martin exclaimed, drifting toward the grid and rubbing his hands together. “To what do I owe the honor of this appearance? We have a blue for sale today, a chaste lot...”

A hint of a smile touched the man's full mouth and Bill looked over at it, wary and unwillingly fascinated. There was a magnetism to Bushido's features but Bill couldn't decide if it was repellent or attractive.

“Was wondering if this beauty of a red here was mis-labeled,” Bushido answered in a deep voice. His eyes raked over Bill, who averted his eyes again, cheeks filling with unwanted heat.

“Ah...Bill,” Martin said, his voice flat. “No, there's been no mistake. He wears the red.”

“Thought he might have ought to wear the blue!” Bushido said, and slapped his thigh as though he'd made a gut-busting joke, implying Bill was a woman. The men behind him broke into laughter. “Awfully pretty for a red. I don't s'pose...”

Bill bit down on his lip as the musician sidled closer. A strong hand passed up his arm from forearm to shoulder and he couldn't repress a shiver. The nearness of the man radiated, and made an impression like none of the other men who'd stopped to appraise Bill, however long.

“No free samples,” Martin chided him.

Bushido let go of Bill's arm. “Too bad.”

Bill had to clench his hand to keep himself from rubbing convulsively at his arm. He could still feel the touch of the man's fingers gliding up his arm, raising hairs in the wake of his touch. He still couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Bushido addressed him directly. “And are you...chaste...as well?” He put such a curious inflection on it, almost lewd, that Bill had to look up.

The man's eyes were heavy on his, gaze penetrating. Bill pressed his thighs together and tried not to squirm. That kind of look promised something, he thought hazily, in the way he was coming to recognize the expectations placed on him. It made Bill feel as though he'd been stripped and exposed. Certainly Bushido seemed to _want_ him naked before him.

“I am,” Bill said, lifting his chin.

“Ah,” Bushido said, seeming regretful. “Your price will surely soar beyond reach.” He jerked his head at Martin, then began to back away, rejoining his friends.

One of the men clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah, you're here for a replacement blue, remember?”

“Too bad the other one got used up so fast...”

With that ominous comment, Bushido's group began to move off toward another grid, a line with several women in blue and vibrant teal singlets. As Bill stared after them boldly, Bushido cast one last glance at him. His lips twitched and Bill jerked as though he'd been stung, folding his arms across his front in an impromptu hug. Bushido had sent an air-kiss after him, unmistakable as a broad wink.

Fingers tugged at his hair, yanking Bill's head back, and he cried out briefly before sealing his lips shut. He hated to give Martin the satisfaction of thinking he'd gotten to him.

“Keep your eyes down, like a proper courtesan,” Martin hissed. “Every time you act out, that has potential impact on your sale.”

Bill stared down at the golden line, one arm clasped over his opposite elbow, keeping sullen thoughts to himself.

Martin came around, examining him, and sniffed. “Willful boy. Benjamin gave you far too many liberties. Don't you _want_ to make a good sale for House Ebel, in return for all the years he's cared for you?”

Bill remained silent, picturing Martin in a tragic flitter accident due to turbulence, hands too busy counting _lir_ to engage the craft after the auto-pilot switched off.

Martin snorted and moved away, retreating for the comfort of his chair once more.

A discreet glance along the line revealed Bill's peers in subservient poses, heads bowed, hands clasped before them. As usual, Bill stuck out. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes fixed down when there was so much to see, not to mention one of the men in the room would be purchasing him before the end of the day.

The great face of the clock display mounted on the far wall counted down the interminable final seconds until the Grand Auction commenced. There was only little more than an hour until Bill would be ushered backstage with the rest, to queue up and await his turn to perform as each lot displayed a demonstrable skill and paraded onstage in more form-fitting clothing.

There was precious little time left, and thus far Bill hadn't met a single man that had stirred him, heart, mind, and body; the one who had roused a response made him uneasy. He had no say, no will. The most he could hope for would be to catch the eye of a kind-hearted man, or if he did speak to one he desired, ply his wiles as best he could to influence the man to bid to the utmost.

Bill dared to lift his head again, seeking.

A sonorous gong sounded from behind the clockwork face of the time-keeper across the room. Bill fidgeted, darting quick looks this way and that as he checked the placement of his silver bracelet, a graceful arm clasp adorned with carnelians that threw off a dusky fire. He twisted at one or two of the heavy rings that adorned his fingers, trying to surreptitiously case the crowd without being too obvious. He couldn't suppress his innate curiosity, even knowing it could affect his final price, and accordingly, his master.

There were men who looked his way and Bill ducked his head, glancing through his bangs in a manner that could appear shy even as he sought to appraise them as avidly as they gazed at him. An older man with nobility-pale skin and long, black hair paused, dwelling on Bill a moment before moving on. A tall muscled merchant paused as well, his hair close-cropped and his scent pleasantly masculine. Even an elderly man stopped beside Bill, crepey-wrinkled fingers grasping at his chin before his mouth twisted in a dour expression.

“Too much spirit,” the elderly man pronounced, before moving on. His coterie swirled about him to accommodate his faltering steps.

Bill heaved a sigh. The wide-open spaces of the hall were emptying out as many of the merchants and masters sought positions in the auditorium, not having the nicety of guaranteed seating that the nobles enjoyed. The stragglers left on the floor would be nobility, or those looking for bargains, as they wouldn't have the _lir_ to engage in competitive bidding, therefore had no need of good seating at the auction.

As he lifted a hand to swipe black bangs out of his face, Bill caught sight of a young man ambling by a grid further up, one that belonged to a merchant house that rivaled House Ebel. They had several courtesans up for purchase. From a distance, it was impossible to say whether any were chaste lots; there was no particular insignia for that. The information was on their pedigree, which could be viewed electronically. Bill's proof of authenticity wasn't flaunted at the public viewing, but rather reserved for the prospective buyer right before a thumbprint and vocal authorization guaranteed transfer of funds.

The youth appeared to be around Bill's age, the sixteen years that signified coming of age. His flawless brow was knotted in a frown and his hair was done up in masses of dreadlocks, a style that was in fashion with the smallest segment of the population – typically freemen and merchants, with the occasional master performer bringing the style back. He turned, hands stuck in low-riding pockets of trousers that belled around him. His gaze crossed from the blue-garbed women at the rival House's grid to the golden line at which Bill's peers stood. 

Bill began to dip his head in observance of modesty, then shook it off – whoever purchased him would have to take him for who he was, all in all. He set himself in a confident pose, shook his hair out, and looked over at the young man, who was close enough to be within full view as their eyes met. Bill's spine jolted into sharp relief, making him stand at attention. The first look prickled along his skin, riveted him in place, and his mouth fell open.

Bill struggled to draw breath. Three things made an impression all at once.

The young man was _beautiful_.

He wore a Noble House insignia at his collar.

He was headed directly for Bill, his amber-brown eyes alight with interest.


	3. The First Taste

The anteroom had been lavish, but the display hall was a tidal wave of opulence by comparison. The vaulted ceiling was tall enough, the atrium-style interior wide enough, to support a lesser noble's mansion or small building of commerce. Tom did his best not to gape like a yokel at the coruscating ceiling above, which rippled seamlessly from one sky-themed recreation of a classic mural to the next. He kept his expression impassive, lips pulled thin, as he scanned the hall, taking in massive support columns constructed old-style, with scrolling support work at the base. The columns looked as though they'd been sculpted out of marble rather than fabricated. The hall was laid out in neat grids, with all represented Merchant houses taking up their allotted space.

Interesting, Tom thought, that only Merchant houses dealt in the trade of commodities. There was no law against it, but any house promoted by the Ruling Noble House from Grand Merchant to Master divested their interests in the slave trade and switched over to other ventures. There was a stigma attached to dealing with slaves that no one would admit, or point out.

Each Merchant's grid on the floor was delineated with a golden line, at which men and women dressed in color-coordinated singlets were stationed. They stood in an array of demure postures, heads bowed to the degree deemed suitable for their caste. Mentally Tom went over the catalogue behind the colors – the men in gold were of no interest to him. They were for women.

He couldn't help but glance over pretty youths in red or orange, either color betokening they'd accept a male buyer – it had been a while since Tom had been with a boy and he was getting tired of female simpering. Women threw themselves at him; he suspected their motives. If it wasn't the House insignia, it was his looks. With men, frequently, it was all about the honesty of getting off, and nothing else was asked of Tom in return.

He shook his thoughts free of distracting cobwebs. He was here to browse half-heartedly for Georg, willing to buy on the tenuous moral ground that it was for another, not for himself. He knew his friend's tastes, knew the kind of sultry brunette beauty that Georg liked, but had little hope of finding one such amongst these...well-trained human commodities.

"Young man," a merchant addressed him, quickly altering his spiel to include a respectful, "milord!" when Tom turned.

Tom raised a brow. The man had a row of blue-garbed ladies, from newly of-age to women in their late twenties, all attractive. Only the best were brought to the annual Grand Auction.

"Might I interest you in a chaste lot?" the merchant continued, beaming. He waved at a nearby server to bring Tom wine or canapes as he gestured toward his line.

Tom wrinkled his nose and shook his head, turning away. Georg wouldn't want a chaste lot. Tom himself didn't particularly enjoy virgin girls, and as for boys... Tom couldn't recall if he'd ever had a boy who was a virgin. Freemen and women didn't place any particular currency on virginity and it was a bit of a slave fetishization, paying an exorbitant price for a chaste courtesan in order to have what no one else had tasted. He didn't particularly see the allure.

Tom ambled over a willowy bridge that spanned a canal that cut through the hall like a wandering stream. He plucked a flute of sparkling wine from a passing server and downed it as he considered options. He was browsing by sight so far, hoping some dark-haired beauty would stand out against the crowd of huddled courtesans, looking up for a change instead of keeping eyes fixed on the line. He wished Georg had been able to attend the auction with him, jostling his side and cracking stupid jokes. It would have ruined the surprise but been a great deal more fun for Tom, who was aimless in a crowd of the rich and acquisitive.

The dense press of people was beginning to thin as Masters and lower-ranked Nobles began to head for the open sets of doors on the far side of the hall, presumably leading to the auction auditorium. Tom fumbled his mobile from his pocket. No notifications. He knew that his father would summon him and he was counting on that to get a bearing on where their seating was for the auction.

Tom set his empty flute on a low faux-stone wall bordering a display of ornamental hedges and flowers and tiny trees. He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back for the courtesan grids without much enthusiasm. He could ask merchants if they had any spirited girls, but they'd only lie to make the sale.

 _They'll be whatever you want them to be,_ ran a common train of thought.

He passed a grid with girls in green singlets, all lovely, but each one of them only interested in other girls, going by the color.

A deep, resonant gong struck the hour and Tom gazed around the nearby grids, looking over elegantly-appointed temporary booths at an immense clockwork riveted to the far wall. An hour left until auction.

Each woman on the next grid he laid eyes on had her head down, her hands clasped before her. Tom spared a moment to quiz himself on whether he was imposing his own tastes on Georg. No, he was sure that his friend had said more than once that he liked a girl with verve, with liveliness.

Perhaps he'd only meant 'freewomen.'

Tom scowled, looking past a row of beauties in blue and teal singlets, dismissing their neatly coiffed dark hair and folded, delicate hands. His roving gaze went over another such grid across the way and a jolt traveled clear through his body before he fully registered the impact of what he was looking at.

A pair of rich, clear brown eyes met his, guileless beneath black bangs. Curious, head unbowed, a face more striking than any he'd seen that day made an impression on Tom's searching gaze.

 _Beautiful_ , his mind supplied, feet acting of their own volition to bring him closer to the flame of those curious eyes, that gorgeous face. He wasn't thinking of Georg's needs in the least when something inside of him declared, _perfect_.

Mouth agape, Tom found himself standing before the most beautiful courtesan he'd ever seen, live or 'cast. "Your name?" he managed, pulling his mouth in a grimace at the croak he'd produced.

Heavily kohl-shaded eyes lowered briefly over those rich honey-brown eyes. "Bill, milord."

Tom couldn't resist reaching out, tipping a finger beneath Bill's chin to restore that remarkably unflinching gaze to meet his. "Bill," he repeated, dumbfounded. His eyes widened and he took in Bill's singlet.

Sure enough, it was red. Male buyers only.

"You're too beautiful..." he began, trailing off before he could say 'to be a boy,' because the proof was here in the flesh. Intending to pull his fingers away, he stroked along Bill's jaw instead, cupping at the join of ear and neck as though he'd pull the boy into a kiss. Shocked at himself, Tom dropped his hand. He could still feel the suppleness of Bill's skin against his fingers, as though a single touch had set him wanting more. 

"Milord?" Bill prompted.

Tom shook his head, stroking his thumb against his first finger, wishing it was Bill's cheek instead.

"I'm Tom," Tom offered, because he was at a loss for anything else to say.

Bill's mouth was parted, his eyes heavy-lidded. He looked as though he _wanted_ to be kissed. Tom was possessed of the urge to fulfill the desire he perceived in Bill's veiled gaze. The boy broke into a wide, sweet smile the likes of which Tom had never seen before. "Lord Tom Kaulitz," he returned.

"How did you..." Tom's hand went to his collar. Of course a courtesan would recognize his House insignia; even ones yet unsold would be trained to recognize most in the Registry. "Oh. Yeah." His hand went to the nape of his neck and he looked away.

"I like your hair," Bill blurted. His dark eyes were still fixed earnestly on Tom's when his gaze darted back to the beautiful boy who looked terrified in the next instant, lowering his head as though he expected to be lashed or disciplined for speaking out of turn. He probably did expect it, the thought dawned on Tom.

The realization kindled an overwhelming protectiveness within Tom, heretofore undiscovered but no less powerful for all that. The notion of anyone laying a hand on this lovely creature out of anything but passion was a desecration.

"I like your spirit," Tom returned, with a challenging quirk of one brow. "I've never had a courtesan speak to me freely before."

Bill crimsoned to his earlobes, a sweep of color that Tom watched with fascination. "I'm sorry," he murmured, but continued to meet Tom's eyes with unexpected boldness.

Tom smiled at him, reaching out to touch Bill's face when it seemed the other boy would lower his chin again.

Bill sucked in a breath, emitting the tiniest gasp, and his eyes widened. Tom watched Bill's pupils dilate and his own stomach tightened in sudden arousal. No one had ever responded to his touch like this.

"I said I liked it," Tom said, his voice emerging in a scratchy rasp. He ran his knuckles along Bill's high cheekbone and his own eyes half-closed as Bill's heavy lidded look returned.

Bill wet his lips and the simple action, flicker of pink tongue over full mouth, sent a jolt of desire on a collision course for Tom's belly. "Are you in the market, milord?" he asked huskily.

"I...I am..." Tom faltered, and couldn't help but grin when Bill's face lit up like a night-globe switched to brightness. He forced himself to pull his hand away, again. "For a friend." He tactfully omitted the fact that his friend would probably want a blue or teal lot.

"Oh." The small, crushed exhalation made Tom want to snatch the words back, or go drown himself in the nearest fountain. He'd never been so instantly taken with someone; he was enchanted with everything from Bill's fringe of dark hair to his keen brown eyes to the slim figure he presented in the shapeless red singlet. Moreover, Tom was fascinated by the flare of intelligence, even willfulness in Bill's face, the set of his chin, the confident posture of his body. Nirvana beyond, he even _smelled_ irresistible.

"That displeases you?" Tom prompted, clasping his hands behind his back to keep himself from touching the boy again. He itched to know what his skin felt like all over, and that had never happened to him to this strong of a degree.

Tom was used to idle want. It had been satisfied before, easy enough. Here was something before him now that he _craved_ , yet he couldn't simply have. There was a price.

Attached to that monetary price was Tom's determination, his unspoken vow never to buy courtesan or commodity in his name.

Bill's plush lips formed a moue and now he glanced down, his expression lacking its former animation. "It's not my place to say, milord."

"But if it was?" Tom persisted, hopeful he could get a response, a real response, from _this_ courtesan, perhaps.

Bill's lips turned up in a quick smile and he peeked at Tom from beneath his lashes. "It would please me a great deal if you were in the market for yourself, milord."

Tom's jaw hardened at the pat response. "I wager you've said that to every noble who's stopped to admire you today..."

Bill's head jerked up and his brown eyes flashed with that spark Tom had so admired from earlier. "No!" He began to draw back as though horrified by his own vehemence. He began to retreat, shoulders dipping as his spine curved in the beginnings of a bow. "Mi—milord...I'm..."

Seizing him by the arms, Tom kept him upright, looking deep into those faintly slanted, kohl-lined eyes. "Why?" he wanted to know, his chest tight. "Why do you like me?" _We've barely met,_ he wanted to protest. His whole body yearned for this boy already. If he wanted to possess him as his instincts demanded, he'd have to surrender his principles.

Bill's tongue flicked nervously over his lip again, displaying a tongue stud that only fanned the bright-burning smolder in Tom's belly.

"Your hair, the way you dress...you're not like other nobles I've seen, or heard about," Bill began, eyes darting nervously from Tom's lips to his eyes. "Everything just...everything. The way you haven't chastised me for speaking my mind, the look in your eyes when you appraise me, the...the shape of your hands, the curve of your mouth when you smiled."

Tom sighed, about to release Bill when the boy continued, forlornly, "But also, I like the way you smell."

The offhand remark made Tom's thoughts skid to a halt. It was so potentially offensive that Tom knew it had to be genuine, unrehearsed, as surely as he knew Bill had meant it for a compliment.

Without thinking, Tom flexed his hands on Bill's arms and drew him close, bringing their faces into alignment. He hovered his mouth near Bill's plush lips and was relieved when that full mouth nudged against his, sealing them together in a kiss.

Another, stronger wave of desire rolled through Tom at the press of the beautiful boy's lips against his. He molded his mouth to Bill's, shaping a series of open-mouthed kisses until the boy was gasping against him, clutching Tom's loose tunic and making the prettiest sounds he'd ever heard. The kiss went on and on, unfurling heat and urgency between them, their lips testing every configuration against one another that seemed possible. They met again and again without parting.

"Hey! Hey, you there!"

The sudden shout startled Tom out of his kiss-induced daze and he released Bill's mouth with reluctance. He hadn't even brought his tongue into play, the regretful thought passed through him.

A stocky older man was charging toward them, his expression carved in harsh lines. He wore clothes cut to the latest style and a merchant insignia at his collar. His face altered from righteous fury to chagrin when he got a good look at Tom.

"Milord...young lord Kaulitz," the merchant said. "My apologies, but it's not customary to handle the merchandise before auction."

Tom narrowed his eyes. The man's hand was curved in the discreet fashion that implied he'd overlook further liberties with a 'tip.' He looked to Bill, who had lowered his head once more.

"You're enough to test any man's resolve," Tom murmured, and was rewarded by the fleeting grin on Bill's face, visible to him but unseen by the merchant.

"Can I help you find something suitable, milord?" the merchant inquired. "This one's lovely, but perhaps a better fit for a firm, older hand. I've a tractable orange on the line, also a looker..."

Nauseated by the man's attempt at bait and switch, Tom shook his head. He reached out, almost but not quite passing his hand along Bill's jaw, and those expressive eyes rose far enough to meet Tom's while his head remained at a subservient angle.

"I'd like to see you later," Tom murmured directly to him.

Bill's face flooded with unmistakable hope. "Milord?" he questioned, his voice squeaking out. He begged Tom with his eyes to clarify.

Like all other lots on the floor, Bill would be sold. The only way to 'see' Tom later would be if he purchased him.

"I came to buy for a friend," Tom confided. "I didn't think I'd ever procure a courtesan of my own. But you are..." He leaned forward and enjoyed the way Bill's eyelids fluttered as he drew near.

"Milord," the merchant said sharply, stepping closer as though to drag Bill from the line. "This is not a public fair, where any man may lay hands on him."

Anger made Tom's jaw taut, his hands fisting without conscious will. The thought of anyone laying hands on Bill, this beautiful Bill, as though he were a piece of meat – as though he had no right... Tom's train of thought suffered abrupt derailment. Bill _had_ no rights, and would be sold to a partner not of his choosing. Unless...

"You are tempting me to buy you – to bid, though I view slavery as an affront to society," Tom murmured, trying to keep his voice low enough to limit his words to Bill alone, and not his merchant. "Do you...want _me_?"

Bill's eyes smoldered across the space between them. "I hope to see you later _very_ much, milord."

Tom bit down at his lip to try and smother his relieved grin. He believed Bill. Something about the words from Bill's mouth resonated within him, as though he had a direct line to the thoughts behind those lovely brown eyes.

"Then I'll see you soon," Tom said, and allowed himself the brief gesture of lifting a hand, brushing his fingers along Bill's cheek in a silent promise.

The smile that warmed Bill's elfin features was worth it.

Tom's lips tugged upward in response, and he backed away, turning from Bill's line before he did something undignified and un-lordly. Again. Now that he was of age, it could never be passed off as youthful hijinks. He walked from the grid, barely realizing he was grinning hard enough his cheeks were starting to hurt.

He wandered around the thinning crowds of the atrium, gazing at courtesans in passing, but his head was full of one face, one set of perfect brown eyes. He couldn't bring his attention to bear on any other.

"Sorry, Georg," Tom murmured ruefully. He wrinkled his nose. A courtesan was a very personal choice; one should be present to find the individual that truly clicked. He'd assist Georg in the purchase of his own at some future point in time...

Tom shook his head, came to a stop at the verge of a bridge that overlooked a manufactured waterfall, and clapped a hand to his forehead. "A courtesan," he mumbled, tugging on his earlobe and wincing. "I'm really going to bid on a courtesan."

His father was going to piss himself laughing, or gloat unto infinity.


	4. Early Bid

Bill held his breath and gazed after Noble Lord Tom Kaulitz with rapt, shining eyes, holding out hope that the young lord would turn for one more glance, that their eyes could meet, that he could enjoy the touch of that gaze that, for the first time, promised Bill both scorching heat and a resonance, the hint of a connection beyond the physical. More than anything, Bill had allowed himself to dream – to hope – for a future that gave him a master who cared for Bill as a person, not simply someone to ornament his bed and serve as some form of living art. The look in Lord Tom's warm brown eyes would not leave him and Bill lowered his head, still smiling to himself. If the Noble Lord followed through on the promise of his words, and what his eyes had told Bill...

Tentative, Bill brought his hand up to his lips, imagining the ghost imprint of Lord Tom's mouth upon him. His first kiss. Bill had been kept chaste all his life, isolated from his peers and attended by green-robed older women who had no interest in him. He had never had unchaperoned contact, not even with Benjamin, the merchant who had seen his potential early on and made certain Bill was set on the track to bring out his glory.

A curious finger traced over his own lip, but Bill couldn't rekindle the heat that Lord Tom had brought to his body with his too-brief touches. He relived the fleeting brush of Tom's knuckles against his cheek and sighed.

He hoped that touch was a promise. He _wanted_ it to be.

A pinch to his shoulder made Bill turn, coming to earth with a dismayed gasp.

“You are unbelievable,” Martin said, his mouth twisted in sardonic lines.

Bill cringed, expecting Martin to seize him with a hard hand and drag him from the grid at the very least. The Noble Lord couldn't be brought to task for stealing Bill's first kiss, so Martin would probably take it upon himself to discipline Bill. There was a shock wand in Martin's pocket and the man was one of the few in House Ebel that was free with its use.

“Oh, stop pouting,” Martin sneered. “You could do worse than enticing a young lordling, who'd be likely to overlook your follies. What did he say to you?”

“That he hoped to see me later,” Bill murmured.

Martin's face brightened. “Ah,” he said, and rubbed his hands together. He craned his head to look off in the direction of the departed Lord. "That's hopeful, at least."

Bill took a slow breath, hoping it was an actual promise more than anything. He gripped at the loose folds of his singlet again to prevent lifting a hand to his lips again. He wanted to re-live Tom's kiss. At the same time, he knew he couldn't let himself hope beyond reason. Stinging questions rushed in to prick his faint stirrings of yearning. What if Lord Tom didn't have the _lir_ to manage a winning bid? What if one of the other men who'd stopped to view him today were more determined? What if... Bill gazed at his painted toes in his simple sandals. What if Lord Tom changed his mind?

"Return to the line," Martin directed Bill, interrupting the doleful flow of his thoughts.

With a reluctant nod, Bill stepped back to the golden line. The courtesan beside him was as motionless and incurious as statuary, not even giving Bill a sideways glance to indicate he'd witnessed the entire exchange. Bill glanced through his bangs at the clockwork on the far wall. The great hand was grinding into position to denote little more than half an hour remained until before the Grand Auction. Other grids were emptying as their merchants withdrew to the auditorium's back area to prepare their lots for display. Each lot had a demonstration component, to show the assembled bidders a sample of the skills that could be theirs for the winning bid. The Auction would go for hours, late into the night and possibly well into the next day.

House Ebel had secured a prime space on the agenda during the dinner hour, when wine would have been flowing freely but food might not yet have made an impact to those imbibing and smoking during earlier sales. Martin was clearly intending to keep viewing open until the last possible moment, the better to catch any potential buyer's interest for later purchase.

With his heart and head full of Tom, Bill now had every reason to keep his gaze fixed demurely on the golden line that delineated his grid from the walks that allowed the freemen and women access through the winding causeways across the immense hall. He looked down at his long toes and contemplated Tom's quick smile, the lively interest that had brightened his rich caramel-colored eyes, and the bold hand that had touched Bill's face. Though it had only been a few simple touches, barely even a caress, Bill's skin craved more and his lips yearned for another of those kisses. It had seemed to last forever, and yet when Martin's voice had cleaved them apart, Bill could have stricken the man down and gladly paid the price of whatever discipline was levied against him.

By the end of the evening, Bill would go home with a master. Maybe even... And most certainly, he'd be delivered of the virginity that his merchant house had guarded so carefully. He pressed his thighs together. There was a deep tingle in his groin that wanted to develop further, but until he'd been divested of his constant arousal-dampening accoutrement, Bill was unable to do more than fantasize.

He'd undergone thorough schooling in sexuality. He'd attended lectures, watched explicit vids under his tutor's direction, seen live demonstrations between human commodities at House Ebel. Bill wasn't intended to be completely ignorant, only untapped. All his firsts were intended for the man who purchased him at tonight's auction.

Pressing his lips together in remembrance, Bill ached with all his being for that person to be Lord Tom.

"I'd hoped this house would still be on the grid, not yet withdrawn to the auditorium," a deep, masculine voice impinged on Bill's flushed recollections. "You there, merchant. Assist."

Hairs prickled on Bill's arms and nape as the voice wrenched Bill from his budding fantasies regarding forthcoming purchase. He ventured to glance from beneath his lashes and blinked, stunned to recognize Grand Master Bushido standing before him for the second time that day.

"Grand Master!" Martin exclaimed, hurrying to a position behind and to the right of Bill. "I am Martin of Merchant House Ebel; how might I provide assistance to you?"

With his head bowed, Bill could see Bushido's hand extending, reaching for a point beyond him. Money changed hands.

"I'd like a closer appraisal of this beautiful red, here," the dark-complected man said. His skin was a dusky olive hue, almost tan – not the light golden color of Lord Tom, but indicating the leisure for cosmetic burnishment.

Bill had to bite down on his tongue with a certain force to prevent himself saying, _"I thought you were in the market for a blue?"_

He flinched as strong fingers insinuated under his chin, tipping his head up to look the bigger, taller man in the eye.

"You are something," Bushido said to him directly.

Bill dropped his eyes.

The man wore drab colors but necklaces, thick chains, of considerable worth. A few large rings adorned his blunt fingers.

Bill wanted to shudder but he was rooted in place. There was something both lustful and knowing in the man's magnetic gaze, as though he could read the mixed and confusing nature of Bill's response to him. Above all, Bill was scared that the man would kiss him, and erase the remembrance of Tom's lips against his.

“Fine bone structure,” Bushido murmured, stroking a warm palm over Bill's cheekbone.

It sent another furtive shiver through Bill, who kept his eyes down on purpose, now. Lord Tom was a Noble, he reminded himself. Surely a Noble would be able to outbid a Master, however elevated his status.

One of Bushido's fingers flicked at Bill's nose, causing him to glance up in quick startlement.

“There you are,” Bushido murmured, his dark eyes satisfied. “You've got a spark, beauty. Not your colorless, easy-roll courtesan; you must have a real good lineage. Can I try out that pretty mouth of his?” That last was addressed past Bill toward Martin.

“He's chaste,” Martin hedged, neglecting to inform the master that a noble lord had taken Bill's first kiss not even a half-hour ago.

Probably holding out for more money, Bill realized with amusement, as Bushido gathered him a step closer with a firm hand on Bill's upper arm. And a man like Bushido could well afford it.

“Not asking for his first kiss,” Bushido replied, and dragged the pad of his thumb across Bill's lips.

Shocked, Bill's eyes opened wide to look up into eyes gone darker, fixed on him like a demand for his attention as Bushido slipped his thumb past Bill's lips and pressed against the soft yielding heat of his tongue.

“Fuckin' hell, you've got a tongue stud,” Bushido growled, and his voice sent a primal thrill up Bill's spine as his mouth constricted inadvertently around the intruder. Bill had always been somewhat orally fixated, quick to pop sweets in his mouth and finding himself absently chewing on the end of a stylus or control wand. He brushed his tongue against the pad of Bushido's thumb in a sampling sort of lick, unable to help himself.

“Grand Master,” Martin said, after a long pause during which Bushido gazed at Bill through hooded eyes and Bill sucked thoughtfully on the thumb in his mouth, analyzing the flavor and struggling to figure out why he enjoyed the action so much, when he wasn't even sure how he felt about the man. “I must protest.” The words were spoken out of the observance of propriety, rather than a genuine outrage.

Bushido nodded, eyes still on Bill, and pulled his thumb out of Bill's mouth. Holding eye contact, he slid it right into his own mouth, lips wrapping around it in a move that made Bill squirm where he stood, fresh heat burning his cheeks. The man was _tasting_ him, secondhand. It had a direct, naughtier connotation than Tom's simple touches, his straightforward kiss.

Dropping his eyes in confusion, Bill tongued around the interior of his mouth. There was bitter and musk, the taste of what was surely an exotic cologne of some type, and a hint of narco-leaf. It reminded him of how a man smelled. He didn't know any other way to describe it. There was nothing sour or off-putting. Bill's stomach cramped.

“How much?” Bushido spoke up abruptly.

“His starting bid is...” Martin named a figure in _lir_ that meant very little to Bill. More than a data unit ensemble, but less than a personal flitter, Bill could figure that much from the vid-watching he managed in the time he was allowed.

“I looked at that in the auction's database,” Bushido said. “Nah, what I want to know is off the units. How much if I were to buy him now, before your auction block comes around?”

Bill bit his lip, hard, to stifle a whimper. Once again he pictured Martin counting his pile of _lir_ , gloating, avoiding Benjamin's queries once he returned to House Ebel. The sweet wondering smile that had been on Lord Tom's face when he looked at Bill flashed through his mind and Bill's head swam. He was dizzy, light-headed. If he were in motion he'd surely be reeling.

“Grand Master Bushido,” Martin replied in an awed tone. “I was saying earlier I thought a strong older man would be a good match for this one, but...surely...”

Bushido named a figure in the low six digits and Martin gasped.

“Would that about do it?” Bushido wanted to know.

“You know he's a chaste lot,” Martin ventured. “With someone of your...well-rounded reputation, surely...”

“Figured I'd try something new,” Bushido replied. “Though it's my business and none of yours, merchant. Only thought, I've never seen something _worth_ being first to claim it until I laid eyes on him. Virginity's usually a minus rather than a plus when it comes to sex, you know what I mean?”

“Surely,” Martin said, and gave a nervous titter. “But, milord...” 

Bill was unsure whether Martin was cozening the grand master with the honorific he wasn't entitled, or had simply forgotten when confronted with a six-digit sum. He clenched his hands, nails cutting into his palms as despair registered. Would it happen like this, sold before Lord Tom had a chance to lay a single bid toward him? ...And after? If he went home with the Grand Master, would Lord Tom still want him, seek him out, buy him at some distant future opportunity? Bill's eyes pricked with the humiliation of frustrated tears.

“A'right, a'right,” Bushido said, and raised the figure by a hundred thousand.

Bill inhaled sharply, keeping his eyes on the golden line. The crushing wave of hopelessness hovered like a black field at the edge of his consciousness. He could practically hear Martin's resolve crumbling behind him.

“Grand Master Bushido,” Martin said, sounding as though every word was a bamboo splinter beneath his nails. “Bill is committed to the auction; we are under contract. He is...I am flustered to say it, but our house considers him to be one of the highlights of our block, and he is on the agenda for the dinner hour.”

“Hmm,” Bushido said, considering. “So too many questions would come up if he dropped off the database.”

“You see my position,” Martin responded with a bow. “Were I in business for myself and not dealing with the reputation of my very House...”

“Understood, I get it,” Bushido said, waving a big hand. “Hey.”

His finger lifted Bill's chin again.

Bill tried to keep his eyes closed, terrified that a tear would spill forth and betray his roiling emotions, but the finger remained until he slowly opened his eyes.

Bushido's dark eyes locked him in again. A thumb brushed with utmost gentleness over the mole beneath Bill's mouth, feather-light, nearly intimate as a kiss.

“You want to come home with me?” Bushido asked him, cocking his head.

“I...I don't...” Bill stammered, his voice emerging as a dismaying rasp. “I don't know--”

“Bill!” Martin rebuked.

Bushido laughed, displaying perfect white teeth. “'S a'right, merchant.” An amused smile tugged at his mouth. “I'd prefer he be honest. Then I know what I'm getting into, I s'pose.”

“You've been raised with better manners, befitting a courtesan,” Martin spoke directly to Bill.

Bushido waved him off. “You can lecture the boy later. What I want to know is something I can only get from him.” His unwavering stare reeled Bill in again. “You've probably heard of me. Maybe even you're scared of me, some. Is there a part of you that's turned on, curious? Intrigued?”

Bill took in a wavering breath and almost against his will, his head inclined in a nod. 'Curious' summed it up fairly well. His knees were weak and he couldn't hold the man's gaze; he wanted to look away, but he was unable. The schooling he'd had couldn't have prepared him for this any better than how it could have braced him for how he'd responded to Tom.

“I'll see you later,” Bushido said, delivering the words with confidence.

Released at last from eye contact as Bushido looked away, Bill bowed his head to regard the golden line that marked him as a commodity, a courtesan for sale. Bushido said a few parting words to Martin that passed Bill by. All he could think on now was the looming event that closed in rapidly.

He would be sold, and he had no influence on the outcome.

Unlike before, though, now he had a desperate, perhaps foolish hope as to the master that outcome would bring him, and it all hinged on the determination and means of the two who'd spoken for him.

Martin's hand grasped at Bill's shoulder. “What fantastic luck,” the man said, effusive.

Bill kept his head down as his heart raced.

He was possessed of wild thoughts, of grabbing Martin's shock wand from the pocket of his trousers and striking the man, of flight, of bolting for the open row of doors that led for the auditorium... There, his newborn plans faltered and died. What then, once he broke away from the grid? Even if he were able to find Lord Tom, he'd be counted as a slave spoiled, consigned to the worst possible punishment for defiance of his house.

Bill would be sold to a brothel house, a low establishment that catered to those who could not afford courtesans of their own, but paid by the hour or night's worth for company.

Clenching his teeth and hands, Bill remained still, head down as Martin continued, “With the man willing to lay down that amount for an early buy, surely he'll bring you home this evening and House Ebel will have a record-setting price for all the trouble you've been. At the least, he'll get into a bidding war with that young Lord Kaulitz, and we'll see how high the price goes...”

“Was it very high, Mister Martin?” Bill ventured, glancing sidelong at the merchant.

Martin returned the look with a contemptuous expression. “You really don't know anything,” he said, lofting his nose upward. “Chaste lots usually fetch the most of any courtesan lots up for auction, unless the commodity is renowned or very skilled. New records are set every year. Seasonally adjusted for the economic variant indicators...”

Bill tuned him out, biting down on his lip again. Translated from Martin-speak, Grand Master Bushido had offered a lot.

It all depended on Lord Tom, now; and how high he was willing to go to purchase a slave when he didn't even support slavery to begin with.


	5. The Price to be Paid

Tom kept his face turned toward the wide half-bowl of the auditorium, taking in the drape of old-fashioned red curtain that enclosed the stage area, the chaos of bodies jostling one another to secure floor seats below, and the sight of tier upon tier of Noble Houses taking to the privacy of their balconies as the brief intermission came to a close. He pretended fascination in the furor below to avoid seeing his father's reaction. Once they had taken their seats for the first act of the auction program, Tom had paged through the display until he had found House Ebel on the agenda, and Bill. He'd found it wouldn't be until later, beyond intermission, starting during the dinner hour of the program. Much as the delay grieved Tom, it gave him time to strategize so far as his noble parent was concerned.

Accordingly, Tom had put off breaking the news to his father until intermission, already having a good expectation of the response.

The silence had extended beyond Tom's endurance, and he turned at last to regard the confines of the Kaulitz balcony. He leaned against the ledge on one elbow, tipping his head to the side to regard Jorg's reception of the request he'd put forth.

Jorg reclined back in the supportive embrace of the lavishly-upholstered recliner, holding the bowl of his wineglass and swirling the acrid red liquid round and round. "You want your own courtesan," he said, expression fixed someplace between stunned and hugely amused.

Tom gritted his teeth and shifted against the ledge, lounging against the lip of it on both elbows as he summoned up a grimace of a smile. "You did say you wanted to expand the House coterie," he reminded his father. "It...is traditionally part of the coming of age, as well, and..." He reached up to rearrange a dreadlock tumbling low over his forehead. He tried to find the words to express how much he wanted this without exposing himself to his bare nerve and heart-strings before his father's incisive gaze.

"You don't need to justify it to _me_ ," Jorg informed him, bringing the wine to his lips and pinning Tom with an intense, mildly reproving gaze. "Boddhisatva forfend you admit you were wrong about your attitude toward the commodities we're here to purchase."

The use of the word 'purchase' made Tom squirm and he licked at his lip bolt. "It's not..." he began, pushing up from the balcony ledge and holding his hands loosely fisted at his sides. "He's...it's not like that. If buying Bill is the only way I can _be_ with him..."

"You're so young," Jorg said, pursing his lips. "Not thinking ahead, not realizing if you don't secure top bid on this one, there will be another like him, if not this evening then some day."

Tom stepped toward his father. "There isn't!" he snapped, his mind still wrapped up in that last sight of Bill, the smoothness of cheek beneath Tom's knuckles, and the way Bill's lips had glistened, his eyes pleasure-struck, when Tom had pulled back from their kiss. "He's the only one I want. If I can't go home with Bill, I'm not leaving the auction with anyone."

Jorg sat up in his chair, setting his wine down with an emphatic clack and opening his mouth.

Bracing himself for a lecture, Tom folded his arms.

"I will bid for the boy," Jorg said after a long pause, and leaned on his knees, giving Tom a hard look. "You are, as you say, entitled to your own courtesan now that you're of age. I'm concerned about your attitude, though, Tom. You _are_ young; I don't want you under the impression you're in love with this commodity, no matter how alluring. That's their job, that's how they've been shaped from their youth – to draw you in, to adjust themselves to suit you. They are a reflection of what you want from them, nothing more."

Tom experienced his first stab of doubt. Without Bill before him, it was too easy to second guess each coy glance that the boy had leveled at him through the veil of lashes and dark bangs. And yet, the way Bill had met his eyes with a forthright gaze, head raised from the very beginning...there had been a guileless attitude that couldn't be faked. Bill could have been disciplined for not maintaining one of the standard respectful postures, yet he'd broken rank to give Tom an honest appraisal.

He had caught Tom's eye. More than that...Tom wanted to go against his own principles, to bring home what he'd otherwise have no chance to enjoy.

To protect.

He dwelt on the crushed expression that had overtaken Bill on hearing from Tom he was browsing for someone else, not himself, and could only believe again in the connection they'd made, however briefly.

As all this went through Tom's mind, he knew better than to repeat a single thought aloud to his father. His father had agreed to bid for Bill, and he couldn't ask anything more. There was certainly no changing his mind on the issue of slavery when Tom was buying into the system to begin with.

"Thank you," Tom said simply, bowing to his father in a rather curt manner and crossing the balcony in a few quick strides, folding himself into the comfort of his chair and grabbing for his mobile unit. The Ebel program began after the intermission, starting out with a blue lot named Sera and moving to Bill. Tom kept his finger poised above the name, four simple letters inadequate to express the beauty he'd seen, the vibrancy in Bill's face and slim body. He could page open Bill's entry in the database and see his picture again, but instead of doing that, he set his mobile aside and swapped it for the glass of wine that had been untouched on his chair-side table for the entire intermission.

The price seemed high to Tom as the opening bid for a red lot, compared to others he'd seen that night, and Tom wondered whether Bill had special skills. He'd ask about them from Bill himself.

Tom fretted at the bolt in his lip with an anxious tongue. What if he _didn't_ win? His father was so damned determined when it came to sticking to his budget...

He had to win; that was all there was to it.

The lights flickered, dimmed, and the red curtain parted at the front of the hall, revealing the set that House Ebel had dressed. It was a simple stage, trellis work with winding tendrils of greenery and blossoming flowers, bare and no doubt intended to showcase the commodities rather than the technical feats of the stage.

"Good evening, nobles all, gentlefolk and free; welcome to the second act of the Grand Auction in this year..."

Tom tuned him out and picked up his mobile, returning to the game he'd frozen onscreen much earlier in the day. He liked women fine, but he wasn't interested in the blue lot, even as she doffed a filmy robe and began to execute a dreamy ballet that had surely been calibrated to demonstrate her flexibility and lithe, slender figure. Insignia flashed all throughout the auditorium from balconies and from auction hand-displays on the floor. Tom did look up with surprise when the final sum was read aloud by the auctioneer, but turned his attention to the savory hand-rolled crepes being delivered tableside as the appetizer course arrived.

The next lot was Bill, and Tom set aside both wine and attractively-scented food to sit up and get his next glimpse of the dark-haired boy. He tapped their balcony's display, keying the controls to zoom in on a pale oval of a face, eyes wide but expression composed.

Bill wore a low-cut black shirt that set off a necklace of sultry garnets hung on delicate looping silver wire around his slender throat, curls turned out like angled blossoms embedded with blood-rust gems nestled at regular intervals. His black shirt was truncated on his midriff to expose a sliver of pale belly adorned with a perfect navel above a silver belt studded with alternating garnet and onyx that held up slim boot-cut pants. His outfit was rounded out with a pair of chunky-heeled boots and he raised a voice wand to his lovely mouth.

Tom swallowed, hard.

Bill sang to demonstrate his skill, and Tom couldn't remember a single word after. He was enthralled by the husky voice and the way Bill's eyes shone; he was caught up in every gesture of those slender fingers and the infectious enthusiasm that radiated from his smile, his very being. As far as the young lord was concerned, Bill sang directly to Tom, each strobing note a personal love letter as he expressed yearning for a lover to come breach heretofore untapped potential.

As the last note resonated through the auditorium, Tom held his breath.

The auctioneer repeated Bill's name and associated merchant house, then spoke the opening bid.

A House insignia flashed on the floor.

"Father," Tom said with an edge to his voice. He'd been expecting House Kaulitz to match the opening price.

"Hmm?" Jorg said, paging through his mobile unit with a finger. He glanced up at Tom. "There's no rush. Tom, you didn't tell me he was a chaste lot."

Tom's head rose from his chinned position. "He is?" he exclaimed, surprised. Bill had been so sultry, approached him so readily, his mouth sensuous and promising against Tom's. "I...I didn't know." He licked his lips and a low, electric sensation coursed through his stomach.

"That's going to make him thricefold expensive," Jorg said, sour.

Tom scowled over at his father. "You _said..._ " he began, and produced an exasperated noise as he saw another insignia flash from across the tiered balconies, raising Bill's bid. Trust his father to go over the pedigree details.

"Relax, Tom," Jorg said, assuming that paternal, amused expression again. He thumbed one of the controls on his chair, flashing their own House insignia in response. "We'll get your virgin for you."

Tom swallowed, throat abruptly dry. He turned to grope for his wine.

 _Virginal._ Truly, Tom didn't think he'd had one before. He had been one, at some point, three years distant. There had been a few fumbling encounters with others who were greater in enthusiasm than skill in the way that he had been at that age, but if he'd ever been with someone untapped, they had never confessed it.

He thought of Bill, of being the first to touch Bill with true passion, and one of his hands clenched on his loose trousers. His belly tightened and he gulped more wine. He needed to win this auction the way he subsisted for his next breath. Bill would be entirely _his_ , and the thought twisted him up in anxious convolutions like no other, his breath quickening as he kept their balcony display close on Bill's lovely face. The seeming serenity of his features was betrayed by a quick lip bite, even as the boy kept his eyes downcast.

A gentleman across the hall in the noble tiers put up a valiant effort, letting the bids get to double Bill's opening price before giving up. Bids were scattered like complexly-articulated stars across the dark field of the auditorium as insignia bloomed from several different points: the noble tiers stacked high up to the eaves; the second-level gallery where grand masters had arranged seating unlike the general floor, but no private seating of their own; even scattered bids from one or two points on the chaotic floor, men of lesser status seeing something so fine they could not help but put a tenuous bid toward it.

Tom watched his father anxiously. Untrusting of Jorg to keep the top bid, Tom's hand twitched or his chin jerked up every time there was a pause in the bidding, only to relax when Jorg pressed the chair control to indicate he'd sent up the insignia from their balcony and upped the bid again.

Jorg leaned forward, frowning at the screen affixed to the front of their private balcony. "He does have remarkable looks," he said. His brows drew together.

Tom nodded, tense and sweating as he watched another insignia flicker from the second-level gallery. Most other bidders were dropping out as Bill's price soared toward six digits, but some were doggedly persistent.

"How high," Jorg said slowly, "are you willing to go?"

Tom swallowed as the pause dragged on for terrifying seconds, each one closer to the moment that the auctioneer would declare...

"Going once!"

"Father!" Tom burst out, glaring at Jorg. His father wasn't looking at him, his eyes still fixed on the display that Tom had zoomed in on Bill at the front of their balcony.

Jorg tapped his chair arm console again to increase the Kaulitz bid. He picked up his mobile unit from his lap and scrolled through it once more.

"I want him," Tom said, the words coming out more forcefully than he intended. "He's all I ask, father. I won't ask for another courtesan next year, or the year after. I swear it. Only win _this_ one for me, and..."

His anxiety ratcheted up another notch as that stubbornly-bidding insignia flared at the edge of his sight from across the darkened hall. The man from the second-level gallery was pursuing top bid, upping Bill's price again. Tom tried to recall the House that belonged to that particular insignia, but his memory failed him. It was familiar, but he wasn't so well-versed on grand master insignias; mostly the noble and high nobles their family dealt with on a regular basis. Tom turned back to his father and recognized the stubborn set of Jorg's chin.

"Please," Tom ground out, and his father looked up with surprise.

Jorg hesitated, still frowning. He pressed the control on his chair arm and went back to his mobile, scrolling, dragging his finger down to spool toward whatever information he searched for. "Did you even look through his pedigree?"

"It doesn't matter to me," Tom replied, exasperated. He knew all he needed to. Bill was exceptional, and he would be worth any price.

The next bid from the second-level gallery pushed Bill's price into six digits, and an anticipatory gasp ran through the crowd. It was the first such sum all evening.

"He's worth it," Tom voiced aloud, keeping his eyes on his father now rather than Bill's beautiful face, unable to look back to the courtesan as though he'd cross the luck if he allowed himself a glimpse of what he wanted so badly.

Jorg's frown deepened but he upped the bid again. He kept his eyes on his display.

"What are you doing?" Tom wanted to know. It was down to House Kaulitz and the bidder from the second-level gallery now. "Look, if it's about the budget..." He stood ready to bargain away years of mid-winter gifts.

Jorg waved him off with an irritated hand and picked up his wine glass, downing his red in a single gulp.

Another bid flashed from the second-level gallery, doubling the price. The entire auditorium took in an audible breath.

In the collective hush that followed, Tom jumped up from his seat and stared down at his father, who appeared more absorbed in the display than the auction to which he'd committed on Tom's behalf. "Father," he started, sensing his father's commitment to the purchase slipping, losing ground. It was a _lot_ of money.

"Going once!" the auctioneer's tone rang out into the ringing silence.

"Father, up the bid," Tom demanded, stepping forward to grab for his father's controls on the armchair and send up their insignia again to bid again. If this was some kind of power play from Jorg, or an unknown psyche-out tactic to deploy against the other high bidder, he wasn't having it. He couldn't risk losing Bill to his father's pride.

Jorg covered the controls with his hand and drew himself up, shoulders broadening, fixing Tom with a dark eye. "No," he replied.

Tom gaped. "But you..."

"Going twice," the auctioneer announced.

"I will not bid again," Jorg stated.

Tom gaped. "You _what!?_ " He wheeled, wild-eyed, to stare across the auditorium at the insignia that shone brightly from the grand masters' tier, mocking him with its brilliance.

"Bill of House Ebel, for an astonishing price, the highest _lir_ bid for any lot so far..." the auctioneer began his closing spiel.

"It's done." Jorg's voice was grating in its finality, as Tom stumbled toward his own chair, shaking with anger and nerves. The auctioneer hadn't closed _yet_ , but his father refused to up the bid.

There was no time left. Tom's heart pumped searing blood through his veins. He stared at the display at the front of the balcony, riveted to the sight of Bill's face, upraised and wide-eyed as he regarded the upper tiers, biting his lip in an unconscious gesture of anxiety. Hopeful, Tom imagined, and awaiting House Kaulitz to top the bid that was already being accepted as the winner.

He had only one option remaining, and if it didn't work...

  
[Captive](http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/171347030/) by ~[umetnica](http://umetnica.deviantart.com/) on [deviant](http://www.deviantart.com)[ART](http://www.deviantart.com)  


Art by the always-talented . 


	6. Claiming Rights

Tom's chest rose and fell rapidly with his own fury, with sheer adrenaline. It was a lot of money, to be sure, but he'd already sworn he'd have no other courtesan. His father could take it out of his own expenses... He stumbled back to his own chair, mind racing as he worked through quick mental calculations. With shaking fingers, he dialed a staggering sum into the control pad of his own chair.

"Tom, what are you doing?" his father thundered.

Tom closed his eyes and pressed the bid button, holding his breath as he watched the House Kaulitz insignia flare to life from the front of their balcony. He collapsed into the embrace of his recliner. Had it been enough? He was glad now that he'd registered in case he saw a pretty girl for Georg.

"—hold! A new top bid, doubling the price yet again for Bill of Ebel!" the auctioneer interrupted his own closing spiel, his voice high with excitement.

"Winning," Tom said, opening his eyes to level a defiant stare at his father.

Jorg's face was black with anger and he pounded the arm of his chair.

"It's _my_ money," Tom added, controlling a surge of childish contempt that prompted a desire to stick his tongue out at the man who'd turned on him, let him down.

"You _cannot_ buy him," Jorg blustered.

"Going once!" the auctioneer's voice was the only clarion call in the gathered silence.

Tom raised a sardonic brow, pulse throbbing at his throat hard enough to taste. His fingers were poised over the controls of his chair but he couldn't afford to raise his bid by a single _lir_ more.

"Going twice!"

As one, they turned to stare across the auditorium where the other bidder had first pushed Bill's price into soaring six digits. Tom couldn't breathe as they waited for the unknown man to bid once more.

" _Sold_ , Bill of Ebel is now sold to House Kaulitz..." The auctioneer sounded stunned as he named off the unbelievable winning sum. The display close-up on Bill's face revealed a red-cheeked face and lips bowing in a trembling smile, making Tom's chest flood with answering warmth.

"I just bought him," Tom snapped. "No thanks to you."

"A new record!" the auctioneer informed the hall, now buzzing with conversation and amazed exclamations from one end to the other. "This winning bid sets the year's record for sale of a chaste lot. House Ebel takes the honor!"

Tom pushed himself to his feet, unable to believe it. The display was re-setting for the next lot as Bill was led off the stage. Tom followed the distant figure with his eyes. He could leave right now, and collect his courtesan, as many did. He could go enjoy the victory, in more ways than one. The tension of nerves left him, replaced by a high, single note of tinnitus. His ears rang and he knew not what to do. He had to leave the hall, find House Ebel...collect his Bill...

"Fine," Jorg hissed, speaking over the auctioneer's announcement of the next lot. "You've bought him despite my wishes, spent a sum totaling all your investments and assets to date, flaunted common sense and let yourself be bid up by a mere grand master...but you are _not_ bringing your little whore to my house!"

Tom gaped at his father, beyond taken aback. The sting of the insult, a ridiculous slight to Bill's chaste courtesan status, barely registered. He'd never seen the man so angry over a challenge to his authority. Jorg's face was dark, suffused with a wrathful flush visible even in the dark confines of the Kaulitz private balcony. He glared Tom down until Tom looked away, focusing dazedly on the pale trellis-work onstage. Bill was waiting, he reminded himself, and got to his feet, pocketing his mobile.

What was he supposed to do with a courtesan he couldn't bring home?

When Tom stepped out into the wide vaulted hall, he stopped and blinked in the brilliant flood of light for a moment but could barely give himself time to adjust. He had to hurry onward to avoid any chance of Jorg stopping him. Tom squinted through watering eyes, having no idea which direction would lead him to the section where the commodities were kept post-sale. He picked a direction, his mind full of Bill, thoughts spurring him to get to the place he could place his print on whatever waiver or contract would bind their fates together and allow him to claim the boy who'd captured his heart, in turn.

"Milord," said a cool feminine voice behind him, and Tom whirled, still seeing an aftershock of flashing House insignias when he closed his eyes for too long.

"Padma," Tom responded in surprise, focusing on the Interscope employee who had appeared before him.

"Congratulations on your purchase," Padma told him, bowing to a respectful degree.

"Interscope has very attentive service," Tom said cautiously. He hadn't expected their concierge to come find him. He reached up to tug one ear, looking over her shoulder. So long as his father didn't come storming from the Kaulitz private balcony, he supposed he had a moment to linger.

Padma inclined her head. "I'm here to show you to the attending facilities, where sold commodities await your pleasure."

Tom widened his eyes. "Yes, please," he said hoarsely. He started toward her and bit his lip when Padma retreated a half-step to go back the way from which she'd come. He'd been going the wrong way.

As Padma gestured, leading Tom down the hall, she trailed a look in his direction. "On behalf of Interscope and House Ebel, we recognize that due to the record-setting nature of your bid, funds may not be immediately available for transfer."

Tom's stomach lurched. The prospect that he might not be able to go to claim Bill that evening was a sudden blow to his adrenaline high from leaving the auditorium with the top bid.

"Er, about that..." Tom started, reaching up to tug on his earlobe. He was about to ask whether they could work something out; he'd sign any kind of contract as long as it would put Bill in his arms here and now.

"Interscope would like to extend you a line of credit," Padma told him. "We have a suite that's yours for the week, and should you care to spend time on our gaming levels..."

Tom's head lifted and he gave the freewoman a hopeful, incredulous grin. "Where do I set my thumb?" he demanded, equal parts thrilled and amazed. It was good business, he knew. The hotel comped him for a week's time in one of their lavish hospitality units, Tom got his courtesan enjoyed him, wined and dined him at one of the hotel's upscale restaurants, and made enough runs through the casino to make it worth Interscope's investment in him. He thought of his father's cautionary spiel on interest rates. "Any other catch, besides spinning the wheel?" There were a few casino games Tom did enjoy.

Padma dipped her head, a shining wing of dark hair sliding over one shoulder. "No, milord. If you'd circulate freely with your courtesan over the next few days, it would be great press for the Interscope Grand Auction. Perhaps a soundbyte for a promotional 'cast..."

"Ah, well, we'll see about that," replied Tom, camera-shy. Accepting Interscope's line of credit would give him the time he needed to get in touch with the House Kaulitz accountant and liquidate the assets he possessed, virtually all of which he'd figured into his final bid to make sure of Bill. If all Interscope asked of him in an official capacity was putting face time into casinos and restaurants, he could handle that.

Jorg had denied his commitment to fund the purchase of Bill. It didn't mean Tom couldn't sign House Kaulitz responsible for the rest of his bills.

"Very good, milord," Padma said, bowing mid-step.

"Please tell me those attending facilities are nearby," Tom asked, quickening his step to draw even with the freewoman. Lovely as she was, now that Tom had seen Bill, touched his smooth skin, tasted his lips, the only thing he could contemplate was taking Bill into his arms again, soonest.

Padma's dark ponytail bobbed in response to her nod. "Around the side of the hall and down a level. We'll meet with the House Ebel merchant to finalize the sale--"

"—for which Interscope will assume responsibility, on my behalf?" Tom prompted, testing his understanding. He couldn't believe his luck. What was Interscope's stake in this, that they'd assume the financial burden until Tom could pay?

Tom remembered, and nearly palmed his forehead.

Interscope wasn't simply the site of the auction. They got a percentage of each sale, and Tom had just put up the year's record-setting bid amount. Comping him a suite in a tacit encouragement to spend more money over the course of the week and showing other nobles and masters the benefits of being a high roller at Interscope had good returns for everyone.

"Of course, milord," Padma said. "One of the managers is drawing up the standard agreement. So long as you settle the bill at check-out..."

"Absolutely not a problem," Tom said, allowing himself to grin at last. This was working out so much better than the fears that had cut him to the quick in those moments right after he'd stepped out of the auditorium. With his father not only refusing to pay as he'd said he would, but denying him the right to bring Bill home...

Tom's leg jittered during the entire single flight that the lift surmounted. He tapped his hand against the mobile hidden in his pocket. He closed his eyes and tongued at his lip, thinking again of the look that had crossed Bill's beautiful face. That tentative smile, as though he, like Tom, couldn't believe the name attached to the final bid.

He'd been without his moorings for a moment in that hall, trying to figure where they could go, how he could pay for Bill when it would take at least twenty-four hours to pull the _lir_ he needed from his various sources, whether Jorg had been _serious_ about not bringing his new courtesan home... None of that mattered now. He was focused on one thing alone. He didn't care about the money; he needed to see Bill right that instant, look into his face and know that Bill was every bit as happy with this result as Tom.

Tom would take him upstairs to some luxurious suite, and then...

His eyes flew open as the lift doors rattled. Bill was _virginal_. Tom had never had a virgin before. Oh sweet Kwan Yin, what if he hurt him? Scared him? What if he wanted to go too fast, and Bill was put off, or thought it was bad?

A low hallway extended before them, shorter and smaller than the other corridors they had moved through before. There were no windows, and the walls and support columns were deep red, the floor of white tile with reflective gold chips that caught the light from low-hung iron lanterns that permeated everything with a golden glow. As Tom followed Padma down the short hallway, they passed another entourage, a freeman dressed in Interscope colors, a lord with his head raised high and a collar insignia that Tom didn't recognize on the fly, and a woman in a jewel-blue wrap, her blond hair coiled atop her demurely bowed head.

That reminded Tom he would see his own...his _courtesan_ soon. The heavy wooden door before them, inset with raised studs and relief carvings, was the only barrier remaining between he and Bill.

With a touch, Padma sent it swinging inward.

The room inside was segmented into row upon row of cubicles secured with tangle-fields at each entrance. Tom's eyes widened, taking in the blocks of what were essentially prisons, keeping all of the commodities from leaving their assigned spaces as they waited for the men and women that had put down the money to take them home. A third of the cubicles appeared to be occupied, each one supporting a lounge chair and a slender basin and mirror, allowing commodities to relax or touch up their appearance. Tom's eyes roved until he found one lean figure garbed in black, dusky fire flashing at his throat as he paced with restless strides in the narrow space of the secured cubicle. Seeing this, Tom broke ahead of Padma with long strides and headed directly for Bill's cubicle. He didn't need a guide for _this._

At the far end of the tiny space, Bill made a snappy turn on one foot and headed the opposite direction toward Tom, his skinny arms crossed over his front in a close hug. He peered worriedly through his dark fringe of bangs and his head came up like a startled black swan's. His mouth rounded.

Tom's legs stalled out and he stood at the end of the row of cubicles, gaping at Bill like any dumbstruck boy from a romantic vid, but this moment was real before him.

He'd have to liquidate all of his personal assets to meet the sum he'd bid – every single stock and security he'd built up since the first bonds he'd been gifted with at eight. It would be worth it, though. 

Looking at Bill, only looking, stoked a fire in Tom's belly he'd never known with anyone else.

That thought jump-started movement again, and Tom hurried for his prize with his face burning, something like pride suffusing his entire being. "Bill," he spoke up, low and pleased at the sound of the name in his mouth. He could say it all evening. _Would,_ depending on how things went between them.

Though he'd spoken so quietly, Bill's head lofted, amber-brown eyes locking on Tom from down the row.

Tom hitched his pants up with an anxious hand to put on a final burst of speed and reached Bill's cubicle at last, breaking the tangle-field that served as a barrier at the entry, keeping whoever was within from leaving. All he could do was stare for a searing instant, tongue-tied.

"Milord Tom," Bill breathed, emphasizing the first syllable of the honorific, turning it possessive in his sensuous mouth.

"My Bill," Tom returned, surveying the gorgeous black-haired boy with pride. He wanted to gather Bill into his arms at once.

"Milord, I'm so--" Bill began, his face flushed, an unrestrained grin forming to match the one Tom was sure was stretching his lips fit to split them.

"Noble Lord Kaulitz," a new voice interrupted Tom's happy appraisal of Bill.

Tom reached out for Bill, who held out a hand without hesitation. Tom twined their fingers together before turning. There was no better way to express his determination not to leave the room without Bill, he thought.

A small, neatly-suited man stood beyond the cubicle, flanked by Padma and on the other side, the harried-looking man that Tom recognized from the House Ebel block.

"Congratulations on your successful bid," the neatly-suited man said, inclining his body in a bow. Beside him, Padma inclined her head and the merchant sank in a belated bow. "I'm Peter Hoffman, a manager here at Interscope. I've come to help you finalize your record-setting sale." 

"Perfect," Tom said, tightening his fingers on Bill's, a thrill coursing through him when Bill squeezed back in turn.

"I've prepared a standard contract..."

Tom nodded at appropriate intervals and stepped up to read the mobile unit that was presented by Hoffman, but the greater share of his attention was focused on Bill's hand in his. Bill's thumb was gently stroking along the side of his hand, back and forth. 

It made it hard to bring enough concentration to bear to realize that there was no interest clause, no hidden tricks or fine print that jumped out at him. Tom was versed enough in scanning contracts that he was relieved to see the language promised all that Padma had offered and contained no traps that he could see. Interscope would extend him the credit that gave him the week to pay off his debt, the sum was not a _lir_ greater than the bid he'd made on Bill, and there was a footnote about the suite being comped at no charge to House Kaulitz, provided Lord Tom circulated on the gaming floors.

He applied his thumbprint with no hesitation and nodded thanks to the manager, who withdrew with another bow.

Before Tom could restore his undivided attention to Bill, the merchant from Ebel stepped forward, his attention wavering to one side of the attending hall, back to Tom, Bill beside him, and to the other side of the hall again. Tom wondered if the man had any assistants helping him prepare lots for auction, escorting them to the attending cubicles and so forth, and looked narrowly at him while he wished him gone.

Bill was his now, delivered and print-sealed, and the sooner they could be allowed the intimacy with one another to enjoy that, the better off everyone would be. Tom intended to make _everything_ better for Bill.

"Noble Lord, you've bestowed a great honor on our house," the merchant spoke up, giving a short bow again. "I'm Martin of House Ebel, I'm here to assist. Bill being a chaste lot, if this is your first boy, I'm prepared to discuss..."

Tom stared in consternation. "This is _not_ my first," he snapped, speaking out from the sheer audacity of the merchant seeking to breach the subject of sex with him. "I've...I've had loads of boys, all right? Thank you for your _assist._ " He started forward to steer Bill around the man, gripping Bill's hand in his, clinging hard as the boy's fingers convulsed.

"Ah, milord, offense was not intended," Martin was quick to rush on. "If I might...? The combination; you will need it."

Tom's brow knit. "Combination?" he repeated, and looked to Bill as though the courtesan could provide him with answers.

Bill's head was bent. His fingers tightened on Tom's to a painful increment, before relaxing as the boy let out a sigh that was half whimper.

"He is a chaste lot," Martin repeated, flustered. "Surely you know...well, you'll need the combination for the belt."

"The belt," Tom repeated uneasily. He wanted to look at Bill again, but couldn't tear his eyes away from Martin's acute embarrassment. It gave Tom the sense that there was a large gap in the conversation, and he was standing in that blind spot.

Martin took in a breath, widening his eyes. "The, er...you'll need it, Noble Lord," he said, bowing low. "You will need to take off the belt in order to--"

Tom raised his free hand to stop the flow of Martin's words. "Right, got it," he said, dazed. They'd kept Bill in a chastity belt to keep him pure? A sick jolt coursed through his stomach, making him sluggish and stupid. He didn't _want_ to understand. "Can you...key it to my mobile, I don't..." He wanted to wave the man off, usher Bill out of this sad space with its cramped tangle-field enclosed waiting spaces. He couldn't put off the most important observance any longer; Bill's comfort was first and foremost on his mind.

"Certainly, milord," Martin said, backing up a step.

Despite the awkwardness, Tom had to stay a moment longer to provide the man his personal sequence. He slipped an arm around Bill to secure him closer to his side and found Bill stiff, unresponsive. Martin dialed the sequence into his own mobile, bowed, and retreated.

Tom turned his head, ignoring the waiting Padma for the moment and speaking into the delicate shell of Bill's ear. "Okay?"

Bill squirmed in the circle of his arm and tipped one eye in his direction, providing Tom with a glimpse of flushed cheek and teeth buttoned coyly over his lip. "I'm so pleased to see you, milord," he murmured. "You don't know."

"I know how pleased I am that you're beside me," Tom replied, chest puffing out. He closed his eyes at the chime that let him know a new notification had reached his mobile. All of a sudden he wanted to drag Bill down the aisle, up the hall, and hit that elevator until it disgorged them in front of their suite. Summoning up manly restraint, he nudged his lips against Bill's ear. "Are you hungry? Would you like to have dinner in one of the house restaurants?"

"I want to go upstairs," Bill responded, and bit his lip again. "But not to eat."

Tom had to bite his own lip to stifle a rising groan. He turned away from Bill to avoid pushing against his thigh in a manner most unseemly. "Padma...?" He had to get them out of here before he tried to spread Bill on the lounge chair in the open cubicle.

"This way, milord," the concierge said, bestowing a serene smile on them. She glided off with a brisk enough step that it caused Tom to swear and clasp his arm around Bill's waist, drawing him along.

The bounds of protocol dictated that Bill walk a respectful pace behind Tom, as had the courtesan Tom had seen on the way to the attending hall. When Bill began to pull away, Tom kept him tucked in the circle of his arm.

"But, milord," Bill protested.

"Shh," Tom responded, wanting nothing more than to nuzzle the fragrant patch of skin behind Bill's jaw, direct his face into a turn toward Tom's, take the second kiss, and the next, and the next. He wanted to explore the interior of Bill's sweet mouth for the first time. A little shock went through him as he realized it really would be the first time – Bill's, at least. His stomach tightened. "You're perfect right where you are."

Bill tucked his head down and said nothing more as they fell into step together.

At the lift, Padma offered Tom her own mobile unit to encode the suite that awaited him, and he disentangled from Bill long enough to accomplish the task. They were led from one lift to another at the back of the golden spire, and Tom found himself grateful that he didn't have to use the suite that his father had booked. He wouldn't be required to face the man, or be in a position where a confrontation might force Tom to bluff from an inferior position. If it came down to a choice between having Bill and staying in his father's good graces...

"Here it is," Padma told him, interrupting Tom's dark train of thought. With one slim hand she was indicating the door to the lift. "From the upstairs level, take the left passage, and your suite is the door at the end of the hall."

Tom nodded. "Thank you for your assist," he said, with a great deal more sincerity than as he'd delivered the words to Martin earlier.

Padma bowed. "Should you need any more assistance during the week, don't hesitate to let us know."

Boarding the lift was a matter of a few steps. Tom fumbled for a nonexistent control panel before realizing as the lift rose smoothly without input that it must have only one destination – the top floor, or some other luxury level. He turned to catch Bill giving him a shy glance from beneath his bangs. Tom wanted to reach out for him. He wanted to gather Bill into his arms; he wanted to crush him against his chest, relieved by the warmth and reality of Bill here and now; he wanted to pin him against the side of the lift and ply him with kisses.

Instead he was riveted where he stood, taking in the fact that Bill was his, and _untapped_ , and they were in private at last.

Bill sidled up to him, venturing another peek. "Milord...have you really...had _loads_ of boys?" His voice wavered.

"Not as many as all that," Tom muttered, embarrassed. He moved his hand within range of Bill, knuckles bumping the side of the courtesan's wrist. Bill flinched and Tom began to pull back when a touch moved along his outermost finger. He looked down in puzzlement and smiled incredulously as he saw Bill's fingertip seek his.

Tom met Bill's tentative brown eyes and hooked their pinkies together.

The dazzle of his smile was its own reward.


	7. All His Firsts

As they stepped from the retracting doors of the lift, Bill couldn't contain the pleased smile that took hold of his whole face when Tom's arm went around him again. He had hoped for a master to care for him, to see _him_ and not simply a courtesan to be taken; he'd hoped for a master who was attractive, most certainly. Tom so far exceeded any wistful hopes that Bill was half-expecting to wake from a dream, or suffer a pinch to rouse him from fanciful diversions. He smelled good, he looked gorgeous, and Bill really did like the dreadlocks, though they were a style uncommon. They told Bill that, at the least, Tom was accustomed to forging his own path, not falling in with the height of popular trends.

The arm that steered Bill along the left passage was firm and toned. Bill inhaled, keen with anticipation. Any thought of hunger faded before the nervous onslaught of excitement roiling through his belly. Was it bold to desire the touch of Tom's hands, his body, in other places on Bill? He knew it was going to happen, but he hadn't realized he could _want_ to be covered so badly. Before Bill could duck his head to hide a blush, Tom's face turned and he caught Bill's eye.

The young noble wet his lips with his tongue. His eyes were dilated near-black as he looked at Bill. He looked every bit as eager as Bill felt.

“Milord,” Bill said breathlessly, as Tom held him close to his body and swiped his hand over the panel beside the door.

The door slid aside and they tumbled through. Tom pulled him into his arms and Bill was happy to crowd against him at last.

“Tom,” Tom told him, his breath speeding up.

“Milord?” Bill repeated, confused.

Tom stretched forward to lay a brief, chaste kiss on Bill's lips. “Call me Tom, only Tom,” he clarified. “In here we're equals. I want you to be my lover, not only my courtesan.”

Bill regarded Tom with shining eyes. “I can't believe this is real,” he breathed at last, as Tom stroked along his arms and back.

Tom's dark eyes glanced over to a nearby couch, built on sturdy gilt wood and upholstered with plush crimson. “We don't have to--”

“I know,” Bill interrupted, biting his lip in anticipation he'd be chastised for speaking out of turn. When he wasn't, and Tom continued to gaze at him with those lovely brown eyes as though Bill were the most beautiful creature in the golden spire, Bill plowed onward bravely. “I only meant, I figured, when you offered the opportunity for dinner you were giving me a way to decline, to put it off until later. I don't want later. I...I want to, _now_ , with you.”

Tom's high cheekbones flushed and Bill found himself being pressed back toward the couch as the other boy's mouth captured his in an urgent kiss. Bill moaned, letting his lips fall open as his arms wound around Tom's neck. They pursued the kiss eagerly, mouths locking together, falling open and Tom's lips covering his again and again. Bill could have swooned for sheer pleasure's sake when Tom's tongue quested over his lip for the first time. He parted his lips wider in offering and plastered himself to Tom.

Tom's kiss was thorough, gentle and exploratory without being tentative. He stroked his way into Bill's mouth and Bill met it with his own trembling tongue, not quite sure what to expect or perform in return. All of the vids and live performances in the world were useless to him now, but Tom taught him the way he wanted to be kissed with soft murmurs, slanting Bill firmly into his touch, and the hands that caressed him in reward when Bill moved his tongue against Tom's.

Before Bill quite realized, he was being tumbled back onto the couch and Tom was petting down his front, through his tight clothes. Remembering Tom's comment about being equals, Bill reached up to wrap both arms and legs around Tom. He wanted to surround him, be surrounded in turn with Tom's touch and taste and deliciously masculine scent.

Tom opened Bill's mouth under his with soft hungry nibbles, making Bill gasp into the kiss and tighten his arms around Tom's neck. The weight of his body pressed Bill down into the couch and Bill welcomed it, the heaviness giving him a deep languorous sensation. He returned Tom's kisses eagerly, rubbing his lips beside Tom's again and again, catching at his mouth and working his tongue beside and over Tom's.

As Tom continued to kiss him, stroking Bill's sides and hipbones through the cloth of his shirt and pants, an insistent ache pooled between Bill's legs, letting him know his body was trying to get hard but was unable. He groaned quietly, pushing up against Tom when the other boy made a muffled sound against his lips, pushing their bodies together.

“Can we...take it off?” Bill ventured, when Tom began to kiss down his neck, lipping at the tendons, mouthing hotly and lingering long enough to leave a suck-mark.

“Hmm?” Tom mumbled, pushing up so that he was looking down into Bill's face, his own lovely features framed in a tumble of dreadlocks.

Bill reached up to pet one, marveling at the soft texture of the well-tended hair. He wriggled beneath Tom, hoping to make things clear. “I...I want to get hard,” he said, flushing. He bit his lip, reminding himself this was allowed now.

Tom's eyes opened wide. “You mean...you can't!?" he exclaimed. He rocked down on Bill, grinding unknowingly against the belt before pulling completely away.

Bill keened softly at the loss of full body contact. He wanted to reach for Tom, twine their hands and drag him back down beside him, but Tom was rummaging in a pocket, looking panicked. “The belt doesn't let me,” Bill said, passing a hand down his body and settling at his outer, silver-studded belt. He was unsure whether he should strip, or if Tom wanted to strip him, and was willing to wait to find out.

Tom jerked his head up from contemplation of his mobile unit, looking shocked. “So you've _never_...”

“Well, that's the point, isn't it?” Bill said with a nonchalant shrug. He eased his hips up and undid the top button of his pants, hoping Tom would notice and take care of the rest.

“No, I mean, you've never...” Tom made a motion from his groin.

Bill bit his lip again. “Once or twice, in the bath,” he admitted. He widened his eyes, chagrin sweeping through him. “I know I wasn't supposed to, but--”

“That's awful!” Tom interjected, looking enraged. "They shouldn't be allowed to take even that much from you. I mean, really...jerking off?"

Bill looked full into Tom's face with a happy glow warming his chest that he'd never known. Tom was this indignant for him. "Well, that's what you're buying, you know - my first everything. Even that." He'd heard some masters liked to watch the first time their courtesans got themselves off. He thought about that, the prospect of moving his hand over his flesh as it filled and hardened, and realized he _wanted_ to do that for Tom.

Tom stared down at him with an unreadable expression. "So...I had your first kiss?" he asked. A smirk curled up one corner of his full mouth. "Or you gave that on the sly, too, like pleasuring yourself in the bath?"

"No!" Bill squeaked, appalled. He'd been surprised by Tom's advance on him, but delivering up his first kiss had possessed a rightness to it that he couldn't name. As though he were meant to be with Tom, ridiculous as that sounded even in his head. That kiss had been so much more to him than the few instances of guilty self-pleasure he'd stolen. He reached a pleading hand for Tom as he added, "You were my first kiss. Now, you'll be my first everything else."

Tom gazed down at him with intense, dark eyes as the moment seemed to enlarge around them. Bill was fixed in place, mesmerized by watching Tom watch him. He'd seen men look at him and want him, but none of them as Tom did. Tom appeared to not only look but _see_ him.

When Tom dipped his head to take Bill's mouth again, Bill was ready for it. He nudged his mouth up, lips parting, but Tom didn't give him tongue. He dragged his mouth so slow and thoroughly over Bill's that it left them both gasping.

The ache was back, gathering low in his belly and tingling lower. Bill inclined his hips to rub up against Tom with a whimper.

Tom dragged his mouth away, pupils blown wide as he hovered over Bill. "Let's get that thing off you," he rasped.

Bill nodded, relieved when Tom sat back across his thighs, going to the snaps of his trousers at once. He lifted his hips to cooperate with its removal. When Tom returned after draping the garment over the arm of the couch, he had his mobile in one hand and stared at the chastity belt as though confounded.

"It unlocks in the back," Bill said helpfully.

Tom shook his head, running a nervous tongue over his lip. "Just...why anyone would do this to another human being, I..." He sat back and tapped Bill's leg to indicate he could get up.

"To keep me pure," Bill said, at peace with it. He had Tom now; he didn't have to wonder or worry about having gotten someone awful. He could tell already that Tom was the right fit. Already, Tom was thinking so much of him, being considerate of him, that it made Bill's heart full.

"I wouldn't care if you were _pure_ so long as you're mine." Tom ran a light hand down Bill's back, making him shiver. He keyed in the combination and undid the rear strap. Bill couldn't help but arch his hips in relief as even that much was liberated. He'd be able to go to the bathroom unattended now. Tom's hand caressed over the skin of one rear cheek as though he couldn't help himself.

"Tom," Bill moaned, inclining his hips in silent invitation. He'd never wanted to get hard so badly. The tingling and pressure let him know he would be, if not for the constriction of the belt.

The waist strap was lifted next, and Bill wriggled eagerly, knowing that the rest came off in two pieces. His cock was confined and kept soft within a sort of hard plastic tube in front, and the secure rear strap had kept him locked away from any kind of penetration. He squeaked as Tom petted him back there, stroking his flanks, pulling the belt off and tossing it aside.

It clattered over the floor.

"We won't be needing that anymore," Tom declared, turning Bill in his arms and lying over him, letting his weight sink Bill back into the cushions.

"You feel so good," Bill breathed, his face hot.

The rush of blood to Bill's cock was so sudden it was almost painful, swooning. He groaned as it hardened rapidly, then made the noise again as Tom grinned down at him, stroking the naked skin of his hip.

“Feels good?” Tom wanted to know.

Bill rolled his pelvis up against him, loving the way that felt, wanting more of their bodies rubbing, more of Tom's hands on his skin, more heavy kisses, just...more. Until they came, and did it again, and again, and possibly again for good measure. He turned his head to the side, pleased that the belt was gone for good; he'd heard some masters kept using it after purchase, preferring to stay in charge of their commodities' release.

“So good,” Bill moaned, tossing his head back against the cushion beside them as he pushed up against Tom.

Propping himself above Bill, Tom reached between their bodies and grasped his cock in gentle but steady fingers.

“Oh!” Bill cried out, and tried to hide his face against Tom's shoulder.

“I want to see you,” Tom coaxed, ducking his head to plant a kiss on Bill's ear. “Please, can I see you during your pleasure?” His fingers moved, insistent and sure, pumping over Bill's cock.

Warmth suffused Bill's chest again. Tom had _asked_ , as though Bill had every right to refuse. With Tom, he did, Bill realized; he'd never felt so happy and safe all at once. He nodded shyly, leaning back against the couch cushion again. His cock was swelling in Tom's grip, pleasure drawing near so hard and fast it made Bill moan aloud and try to rub up against Tom again, wanting so badly for something, anything, that he shook.

As Tom's hand twisted around his cock, thumb teasing beneath the head, the torrid sensations surged up so fast that all Bill could do was cry out and bow helplessly under the weight of his ecstasy. They kissed again, and Bill was pliant beneath Tom's delectable, seeking mouth. His spine curved and he pushed his aching dick up into Tom's tormenting fingers. Going stiff, he spilled his release hotly over Tom's thigh. Tom's lips softened on his.

“Oh...oh,” Bill sobbed out, limp against Tom's shoulder as Tom gathered him into his arms. “I'm sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?” Tom demanded, kissing his ear, the curve of his jaw, down his neck. “That was so beautiful. You're gorgeous when you come.”

“I came so soon,” Bill confessed, moderately ashamed. “I know you must have wanted...”

“That wasn't about what I wanted,” Tom said adamantly. He kissed Bill again, pressing a lingering stamp to his mouth, leaving the impression of his own lips behind. “That was for your pleasure and yours alone.”

Bill had thought his chest couldn't possibly expand any wider with his happiness. He wanted to tell Tom that he loved him, but was afraid of how his master might react. It wasn't something that courtesans often confessed, no matter how many vids and novellas featured that kind of storyline. And after all, it had been too soon, hadn't it?

Nevertheless, he was sure of what he felt.

Instead of speaking, he sat up in Tom's lap and ran his hands down his chest, stopping at the belt that hung low around Tom's thighs. “It pleased me very much,” Bill said, direct. He offered up a tiny grin that widened when Tom returned it, appearing equal parts smug and happy. Bill tugged a hand at Tom's belt, biting his lip and looking over at Tom through his lashes. “Can I try something? I want to please _you_ , too.”

“You're already pleasing me,” Tom began, a weak sort of protest, but his mouth fell open as Bill undid his belt and got his pants open. “Oh...well...if you _want_ to...”

“I want to,” Bill assured him with a sharp grin.

* * *

When Bill tried to lift the shirt off him, Tom could only look down with heavy-lidded eyes as Bill grasped at his shirt, flailing with a cutely helpless look. Tom grinned and took the corners from him, peeling the garment over his head, disengaging it carefully around the pulled-back mass of his hair, and tossing it aside. Bill melted against him and all but purred, kissing down Tom's front and running his hands up and down pectorals, chest and stomach. His simple touches were turning Tom on so much that it was hard to believe the boy was unskilled. The chastity belt was part of the proof, and there would be extensive documentation in with his pedigree, which Tom had yet to look at because it was irrelevant.

All he wanted was in his arms, warm and deliciously fragrant with perfumed skin and a light sheen of sweat from his first arousal. Bill's eyes were large and liquid as he looked up at Tom, pressing kisses down his front.

“Are you sure--” Tom croaked as Bill fumbled his pants open. He had a vague, half-formed notion he should be taking the lead, as the only one between the two of them with sexual experience. At the same time he was impressed with Bill's determination, his seeming desire, to take charge.

It was more than a bit of a turn-on.

“I never thought I'd _want_ to try this,” Bill admitted, arranged at the gaping V of his pants and stroking Tom's cock. His dark eyes flicked from Tom's down to his cock, transferring back and forth as though unsure what he should be concentrating on. “Oh, you're so hard.”

Tom sank back against the couch and groaned at that innocuously sexy statement. “Well, you made it get that way.”

Bill's eyes flared with heated recognition. “Well, then I should take care of it,” he decided, lowering down to kneel between Tom's thighs.

“Oh...oh gods,” Tom gasped out, sending up fervent appreciation to any and all deities having anything to do with luck and eroticism.

Bill's lips closed around the tip of Tom's dick first, his tongue coming out tentatively in a few quick licks as though sampling ice cream. It was a struggle for Tom to keep from pushing up, from inclining his hips to encourage Bill to take on more cock. The last thing he wanted to do was choke or frighten his beautiful boy. Tom unclenched hands that he hadn't even realized were snared on his pant-legs and stroked over Bill's black hair, stiff with spray to keep it unmussed but with an underlying softness. Bill was suckling the head now, trying it out, and Tom moaned. He wanted more, deeper, but was reluctant to ask for anything that might make Bill uncomfortable.

After a moment, as though reading Tom's mind, Bill opened his mouth wider and bobbed down, taking about half of Tom's dick in an unbelievably smooth slide.

Tom groaned, tonguing his lip and looking down, watching Bill suck his cock.

He had a good view of Bill wrapping his plush lips around his dick as he went down, cheeks hollowed. Tom tongued at his lip as Bill's beautiful head bobbed at his crotch, taking him back and forth in the sweet heat of his mouth. With each up and down move, the drag of his tongue stud made Tom shudder. Bill was working him like a pro, not with finesse exactly but more than enough enthusiasm to make up for lack of practice. Everything he did was making Tom and his dick very, very happy.

Everything that Bill did, from lapping at the slit to stretching his lips down around Tom to a sensation as though he were swirling his throat around on the verge of swallowing was driving Tom into a frenzy. He twisted his fingers in Bill's hair, reminding himself frantically to be tender, sweet. When Bill _did_ swallow, though, Tom howled. His cock went down Bill's throat and all notion of thought or control dissolved.

“Bill!” His hips jerked and Bill sat back, beginning to cough. “Oh...oh, I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry.” He leaned forward and slipped an arm around Bill's shoulders, nuzzling their cheeks together.

Bill nodded, still coughing, made a little gagging noise, and leaned against him.

Tom stroked his shoulder and neck until he recovered.

“I'm sorry,” Bill whispered, hoarse.

Tom stared at him. “What have you got to be sorry for?” he demanded. “I'm the one who shoved right in without thinking...”

“I should have been able to take it...” Bill protested.

“Your first time?” Tom exclaimed, appalled not only that Bill appeared to believe this was true, but that it would be expected of any courtesan, let alone his beloved Bill. He stroked Bill's neck and the warm patch of skin below his ear. “No, baby, no; I don't expect that. I should have shown more restraint. I mean, this is your first time. And you're amazingly good at this; if I didn't know better I'd say you have practice.”

Bill glowed up at him, folding his arms over Tom's knees. “Well, we practiced with silicone dildos,” he admitted. He looked up at Tom through his lashes. “Hope that doesn't take away the, um, allure.”

Tom shook his head, stray dreadlocks brushing against Bill's cheek. “I don't care about that,” he said, and bumped their noses together. “Sweet Parvati, it's enough that you're here with me, you know? And it's like you've got no gag reflex.”

Bill made a little face. “Thought I didn't,” he replied. He gave Tom a glance that was probably supposed to be coy, but smoldered. “I want to suck it some more.”

Tom's belly tightened, ridiculously excited. His cock twitched and he could only lean back, caressing Bill's cheek with his fingertips as the beautiful boy hitched over his lap again. “You can suck it all you want,” he promised. He knew he wasn't going to last long this time because he was so turned on over Bill that he thought he might paint Bill's lips and chin with his release any instant. He wouldn't be able to do him justice and make his first time absolutely wonderful, so Tom would get this particular enjoyable first out of the way beforehand.

They had all night. He wanted to draw it out, and last long enough to make sure Bill came hard while Tom was buried inside of him. Preferably Bill would do so while screaming Tom's name. Being as turned on and eager as he was at this moment might make it difficult for Tom to pay proper attention to his lover's needs, so they'd keep on as they were, for now. Not to mention Bill's mouth closing over his cock again was one of the most amazing things Tom had experienced in his life.

He sighed and settled into the back of the couch, playing with Bill's hair as the boy's lips moved over the tip of his cock. For a moment, all Bill did was lick and suck at the tip, nibbling with only his lips around the head. He panted over Tom's cock as he licked up pooling pre-come. Dark eyes traveled up Tom's body and they locked gazes as Bill sank his mouth down over Tom's cock and sucked, and sucked.

"Oh, yes," Tom hissed, hand moving faster over Bill's head. "Use your hand, on the shaft."

Bill's eyes fluttered. He brought up a hand to fondle Tom's balls, a thumb pressing against the seam. He rolled them around in their sac, cupping them as though weighing them, before his fingers closed around the base of Tom's cock. He began to jack Tom's cock into his mouth.

"Ohhh," Tom moaned, tipping his head back involuntarily as Bill enveloped him in tight, wet heat that worked and contracted around his dick in amazing rhythm. He tightened up, forcing his head back down so that he could watch Bill swallowing his dick, watch the glide of his red cock, wet with Bill's saliva, disappearing between those perfect plump lips.

It took him by surprise. He was so concentrated on watching Bill's mouth stretch around him. Tom kept his eyes locked on the intense dark eyes that burned from beneath heavily made-up eyes. When he nudged his thumb against the corner of Bill's mouth and Bill's tongue stud lodged against his frenulum, the velvety inside of his mouth applying suction, everything came together like two ragged halves rejoined in wholeness.

"I'm coming--" he warned, as he looked down raptly into Bill's sensuous, heavy-lidded eyes.

His climax rose up and swamped him in a sudden swell. Tom went rigid, caressing Bill's face and struggling to hold his gaze. Looking at Bill, climaxing, it was all tangled up together in the same shining, vibrant thread as Tom came undone.

Bill made a noise, not quite a protest, and clamped his lips around Tom, sucking with even more determination. His throat worked around Tom as he swallowed, and all Tom could do was lie there and shake and stroke Bill's cheeks, watching Bill struggle to swallow it all. Tom ran a hand through Bill's hair and gasped a little as Bill kept lapping at his cock even after he'd licked up everything. A small spill had escaped one corner of his mouth. Before Tom could wipe it away with a thumb, Bill's agile tongue darted to one side of his lips and got it.

"You are..." Tom breathed, at a complete loss for appropriate words. He'd been so fixed, caught up in the purely erotic experience of watching Bill suck him, he hadn't even realized he was that close. He stroked the hinge of Bill's jaw, along his cheek, and gripped at his shoulders, seeking to draw him up into his lap.

The first words out of Bill's mouth, after detaching his lips from Tom's dick were, "It tastes better than I expected."

Tom groaned and gathered Bill up from the floor, pulling him onto the couch.

Bill gave him shining eyes and nudged their noses together. "I apologize for being so unskilled..."

Tom stopped his words by trapping Bill's upper lip with a finger. Bill's eyes were glinting over at him mischievously and Tom was suspecting this apology, at least, was somewhat exaggerated. "I want you to learn all of that with me," Tom said. He replaced his finger with his mouth and they shared a heady kiss. Tom tasted himself, until the thrill of Bill's tongue chased it away as they kissed back and forth. Tom caressed over Bill's naked waist, his bare hips, and settled his grip with a hand on the lower curve of each buttock.

Bill's head settled onto his shoulder. He stroked a hand up and down Tom's front, ribs to belly and back again. His lovely eyes were drowsy but inquisitive. "I want to try everything with you," Bill said, guileless and seeming unaware of the effect those words would have on Tom.

Tom could only nod, bless the lucky star that had favored him tonight, and hold Bill close. They kissed again and clung together as the fire between them that had never gone out, not completely, blazed up again.


	8. Fitting the Key to the Lock

Bill snuggled into the crook of Tom's arm and accepted another flute of fizzy golden champagne that had a rising core of red at the bottom of the glass that streaked red raspberry tendrils through the bubbly drink. “I'll get silly,” he warned, already feeling light-headed and giggly as he leaned on Tom's shoulder. He'd had his first taste of alcohol at his coming of age day not long ago, a day unremarked but for Benjamin's brief intervention to share a toast to Bill's health at dinner.

Tom leaned in to press a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You've got no one to laugh at you,” he murmured in reply, his own grin wide, eyes alight with amusement or pleasure, perhaps both.

Bill nuzzled in for another kiss, liking the way Tom's arm tightened around him. He lifted his glass for a second toast, still glowing over Tom's first of the evening, which had been “To you and me.”

“To...a wonderful first time,” Tom said, and managed to look both hopeful and uncertain as he clinked his glass to Bill's. The crystal chimed and Bill wanted to echo its sublime note.

He was happy beyond all reason, and it scared him. Courtesans weren't allowed to have so much.

“It's not your first time,” Bill told him, giggling over that.

Tom pressed a kiss to his jaw and another to the corner of his mouth. “It's my first time with you,” he asserted. He kissed Bill again when he leaned in for it, giving him champagne kisses on a tongue laced with the framboise candy that diffused the tart drink with its sweetness.

All Bill could do was press close, wordless, because any of the words that welled up on his tongue were too much, too soon. Tom hadn't chastised him for anything Bill had said or done yet and Bill would hate for the tone of the evening to be ruined with a well-deserved reprimand _now_.

“What's your favorite color?” Tom wanted to know, kissing Bill's temple.

“Oh, it's red,” Bill said, hand going up to the dusky garnets he still wore at his throat.

"Of course!" Tom nodded, stretching a hand forth to finger one of the garnets around Bill's neck. "It looks so good on you." He smiled over at Bill.

That look made Bill wanted to scoot closer into Tom's lap, though they were already thigh to thigh. When Tom had returned with the tray of drinks and its full bowl of raspberries, he'd taken a long look at Bill stretched out in only his necklace, as Bill had taken advantage of the moment to strip down and indicate his willingness to continue. Tom had stammered something very enthusiastic and peeled down, stumbling out of his clothes and joining Bill in his nudity on the couch.

Nude Tom was a glorious being, and Bill couldn't stop touching him; his thigh, the ripple of his stomach, with a hand that was curious and insatiable. Tom was the first man he'd touched intimately. He was all spare velvety muscle over a lean, thin frame and Bill loved it.

"What's yours?" Bill asked guilelessly.

"Probably...black," Tom replied, eyes moving up to the inky dark of Bill's hair. He reached and tugged a strand before leaning in, fusing their mouths together again.

"You're so..." Bill trailed off and licked his lip when Tom disengaged from his mouth after rendering them both breathless.

Tom grinned back at him, looking stricken, but in a good way. He lifted his champagne to gulp at it.

Doing the same, Bill stroked at Tom's thigh, wishing he were bold enough or knew Tom's desires well enough to stroke higher without asking permission. The framboise-flavored drink was delicious and Bill thought he could soak it up far too easily. Tom had ordered it after Bill had finished his first attempt at a blow job earlier; his master had donned his pants to answer the door at that point. Too many clothes, Bill had thought, and stripped while Tom brought back the drinks and light snack.

"What else do you like?" Tom asked, his clear cheeks flushed with warmth and hopefully arousal as he caught Bill's eye again.

"I like to make you feel good," Bill said, stroking his fingers along Tom's inner thigh with a boldness that shocked him.

Tom drew back with a little frown, tucking his chin down. "You don't need to say that," he told Bill.

Bill blinked at him, stricken. Where had he gone wrong? He was trying to tell Tom he was ready again. He glanced down. Tom was definitely at least somewhat interested, if Bill was any judge. He retracted his hand and began to pull away, mumbling, "But I meant it..."

Tom reached out for him, curling long fingers around Bill's upper arm. "No, I didn't mean--" he said, shaking his head. He set his glass down and grabbed Bill's to place it off to the side before gathering him into his lap. Bill settled on his thighs with his own legs straddling Tom's. "I only meant, there's no need to tell me something for no other reason than you think I want to hear it."

"I didn't," Bill said, the furrow in his brow smoothing out. Tom must have thought _he_ would because... "Someone else did that to you, and you thought they didn't mean it?"

Tom lifted his chin. He appeared to waver a split second before nodding, the motion slight.

"Who would do that?" Bill wondered aloud.

Tom's lips skewed to the side in a smirk. "Well, courtesans..."

Bill gave a deprecating little laugh. "Well, I'm not very good," he began.

"Don't do that," Tom said, grasping at his bare hips. "Don't. You're the best I've ever...well, I didn't before, not really, but you're my best, and that's all that matters."

Bill blushed, trying to look away, but Tom ducked that way, then the other when Bill tried to hide his face. "You can't say that yet, we've barely even started."

Tom smiled over at him. "Come here," he said, nudging their noses together. He lifted his face and brought their mouths together.

"Mm," Bill mumbled, and opened his mouth readily to Tom's questing tongue.

"It's going to be wonderful," Tom said, after pursuing his tongue leisurely for long enough to set Bill to panting again.

"It is," Bill agreed breathlessly. He rubbed up against Tom's front, pleased at the way their cocks nudged against and past one another, getting slick with desire once more.

"So what do you like besides pleasing me?" Tom mumbled, stretching his neck to nibble at Bill's ear.

"Mmm," Bill moaned, pulling back to gaze into Tom's eyes. He really was no good at this, apparently. Tom was back to talking, even as his hands moved over Bill's hips in a pattern more arousing than soothing.

He thought it was sweet of Tom to be this considerate in one respect, taking their ease and sipping champagne together before engaging in more physicality, but Bill was getting frustrated. When Bill's arousal was actually brushing up against Tom's navel with each breath, he thought it was beyond obvious he was ready for more.

"Piercings," Bill managed, nudging forward to fix his mouth on Tom's. 

"I like yours," Tom breathed, licking his own lip and flicking against Bill's bottom one in turn, they were that close. His hand cupped Bill's face before traveling higher, thumb bumping against the glint of silver looped at the tapering end of Bill's right brow. "Both of them."

Bill grinned and stuck his tongue out, displaying the stud. Tom's eyes darkened and he surged forward to trap Bill's tongue between his lips.

"Mmm..."

They kissed again, harder. Tom stroked over his naked hips and back as their lips joined frequent and avid enough to chase away any lingering remnants of champagne.

"You like to be pierced?" Tom asked, when they pulled apart, panting. He splayed his hands over Bill's chest, thumbing his nipples.

"Nnh, so much. I...ah!...was allowed a lot of liberties by Mister Benjamin of House Ebel," Bill said shyly. "I wanted the piercings. I know it's customary to wait until after purchase, so that my piercings will please my master--"

"I love them," Tom interrupted, stroking over his nipples again and again, spanning his hands over tiny pectorals and bringing his thumbs into play again. "You can pierce anything you want to, Bill, and I'd love it."

"Mm," Bill hummed happily. Tom's fingers brushing over his nipples felt so good. He squirmed, trying to get closer in one moment, edge away in the next. It was almost too good. He gasped.

"Would you like getting these pierced?" Tom murmured, his voice lower, deeper than before. "Would you enjoy it if we pierced your nipples?"

"Oh!" Bill squeaked as Tom thumbed at his nipples with an insistent touch. Pressure was building up in a sweet ache again, and he wanted to rock against Tom to ease it. "Oh, they're so sensitive..."

Through heavy-lidded eyes he watched Tom thread the tip of his tongue through his lip ring and dabble it against his full, red bottom lip. Bill pouted, helpless in sensory overload as he imagined Tom doing that to a ring through his nipple, not knowing what to _do_ but wanting everything Tom could give.

"I'd love to play with them," Tom murmured, and Bill dragged his eyes open to gaze into brown eyes that were all pupil with arousal.

"Yes, yes," Bill agreed, as Tom continued to toy with his nipples. He'd never played with his own before, not seeing the point, and was stunned by how much sensation Tom was dragging from them now with only a few firm brushes of his thumbs.

"But not yet," Tom said, his thumbs still rotating slowly over the tiny coins with their pebbled-up centers. "You'd be too sore for me to play with them for days."

Bill shook his head, frantic. "Don't want that now," he said, hoarse. "Just want you, and me..." He yoked his arms around Tom's neck, desperate for more points of contact between their naked skin. He was only a courtesan but he imagined this period to be like the heady thrall of the lunar-bonding interval enjoyed by freemen once newly contracted, or married. He and Tom were joining together for the first time and Bill wanted it as much as possible.

He knew he'd have to get the House Kaulitz marque on his body, a tattoo of Tom's family insignia, but that would be a welcome thing. And Bill already had a place in mind that wouldn't defer any sexual pleasures.

Excited all over again by the thought of their imminent joining, Bill surged forward in Tom's lap, grinding hotly atop him.

“That's very bold,” Tom said with a moan, as Bill rocked against him harder, pressing his excited cock against Tom's and reaching down with a hand to align them, rut them together.

Bill began to pull back, worried that had been a criticism, and he was supposed to wait for Tom to take the lead as a master should. “Is that wrong?” he asked, fretting at his lip with his teeth.

Tom's hands went to his hips again, thumbs stroking at the sensitive concave points beneath the arches of bone. "It's right, it's so right," Tom assured him. "I always want you to do what feels right, Bill, okay?" 

They rocked together again and Tom gave him more kisses, licking his lips open and delving inside. Bill closed his eyes and enjoyed all the sensations Tom was giving him; a soft tug on his hair to tilt his head at the perfect angle, their tongues pressing together, the sweat gathering on their thighs as they moved against one another. Bill slid forward on Tom's lap until there was no distance between them. He reached for Tom's cock again, exploring the wet tip, tracing a finger down the slit where the continued evidence of his arousal was dripping forth.

“Ahh,” Tom groaned, and rested his head against Bill's shoulder. He pushed Bill back in his lap and kissed down his chest, getting his mouth on the nearest nipple and rolling his tongue over it.

Bill whimpered and arched back, pressing his chest up against Tom's mouth and grinding against him down below again. He couldn't get enough friction, the exquisite pressure that drew their bodies together like the neediest magnets. He was going to come again, the thought surfaced, but he didn't want Tom to make him wait any longer. He wanted them to be together; he wanted Tom to breach him before he climaxed.

"I want to be inside you," Tom told him seriously, pulling his head from Bill's chest and aligning them so that their noses were all but touching. "If it's okay?"

"Yes, yes," Bill said breathlessly. “Touch me _inside_ , now.” It made sense in his head; Tom had been petting and touching and kissing him for what seemed like hours but that was all surface, on the outside. What Bill craved now was the deeper connection.

Tom's eyes flared with a hunger that Bill recognized, inexperienced as he was. He was still virginal but fast learning what it meant to be lustful.

"I need to get something," Tom said, easing his hands up and down Bill's lower back, skimming close to his rear. His fingertips were calloused.

"No," Bill denied, testing boldness, slipping closer to Tom across his sweat-damp thighs.

Tom smiled at him, expression sweet rather than chastising. "You want me to touch inside, right?" His finger teased a path to the top of Bill's crease, dwelling there with a slow rubbing motion.

"Mm-hmm," Bill hummed, thrusting his hard cock forward to paint a testament to his eagerness against Tom's lower belly.

"Then, I need to get some oil," Tom murmured, planting a kiss beside Bill's mouth, nudging his mole with lips and nose and kissing that, too.

Bill's eyes flew open. "Why didn't you say so?" he exclaimed, tumbling himself off Tom's lap and to the side, onto the couch.

Tom looked down at him a moment, mouth open. His cock flexed against his thigh. He reached out for Bill, grasped his fingers into an abortive clench, and got up from the couch to back away, looking staggered. A foolish grin crossed his face and he began to rummage through the clothing he'd stripped off. He cursed and hurried for the bathroom, dreads bouncing against his back.

Bill looked down at his own pale, skinny body, at the cock lying flush and hard against his belly and ran needy hands from his still-erect nipples to his hips. He didn't dare touch his dick, not if he wanted to spend his need with Tom inside him. He tried pinching at his nipples while he waited but it didn't feel as good as Tom's attentions. Better than he'd thought, though.

When Tom reappeared, he had something enclosed in one hand and he paused at the foot of the couch, tongue dwelling at his lip. "You are so gorgeous," Tom said.

Bill believed him.

He lifted up an arm for Tom, pushing his hips up in a wordless offering. Nodding, Tom climbed onto the couch again. His dick bobbed and Bill eyed it hungrily. He wanted it in his mouth again. He loved everything about it – the taste, the feel of the thick flesh moving in his mouth. He'd have it again, but right now he was ready for Tom to put it elsewhere inside him, claiming that last part of him reserved for Tom.

Tom knelt between his legs and ran a hand up his thigh from knee to hip. "Here...in my lap again," he said, licking his lips.

Bill complied, pressing Tom back against the couch cushion as they shifted positions again.

"So we can kiss," Tom told him even though Bill hadn't asked. He suited action to words and covered Bill's mouth again. His hand skimmed down Bill's back, playing over the dip in the center line of his back. He pressed a finger into the cleft of Bill's rear and Bill moaned against Tom's tongue, surprising himself.

A quiet pop wasn't enough to drag his attention from Tom's mouth but the rich scent that assaulted his nostrils got his curiosity. Bill withdrew his tongue from Tom's mouth, looking for the source of a melange of sweet and spicy odors, vanilla and cardamom, cedar and burnt sugar, that wrapped around them. He watched Tom drip oil from a vial onto his finger and wriggled, full of anticipation for what was to come.

“Oh, yes,” Bill whispered, before Tom's mouth closed over his and a long finger rubbed down into the crease of his ass.

He pressed against Tom as the finger went in him, and the unrealized tension in his body unfurled as that finger touched something within that sparked pleasure throughout him, in his groin and radiating through his limbs, making him weak. He crowded against Tom and demanded more, more with the plea of his mouth and the arms snug around Tom's lean body and his thighs flexing down tight on Tom's.

Tom eased the finger back and forth inside him, his lips kissing slow and thoroughly against Bill's, nudging him with his mouth at the same time that one seeking finger rubbed inside him. Bill squirmed, unsure a moment whether he wanted more or wanted to beg Tom to go slower. Tom moved that one finger in him, kissing him sweetly until Bill relaxed, tension unfurling as the finger moved and sped up inside him in a way he was fast learning to enjoy.

"Ahh, oh," Bill expressed his pleasure, catching at Tom's open mouth with his own. He bumped their bellies together and angled his hips as though to coax Tom to push it deeper.

“Another?” Tom inquired, rubbing his mouth against Bill's. “It's not too much?”

“Feels so good, Tomi, yes,” Bill moaned, in a frenzy and angling his aching cock against Tom's sex, trapping them between their bellies where they felt so good, frotting up against one another. “Need more, want you so bad.” The nickname passed unremarked upon as Tom continued to kiss and caress him, appearing totally into it.

“I want you, too,” Tom said against his chin. They panted in tandem, as though Tom could feel everything Bill did, while Tom coated a second finger with more oil and eased back in.

Being penetrated was an odd sensation. Bill was caught between rubbing against Tom's belly and pushing back on the fingers that had slithered up inside him; it was almost too much, somewhat like a reverse movement...there...but good, weirdly good. He hid his face against Tom's neck and tasted his skin, letting himself think about what Tom's pretty dick would feel like in there. Blunt. Bigger. A hot sensation flared through his middle and slammed heat into his face; he felt sick, almost weak.

"Are you all right?" Tom asked him, depriving Bill of his fingers and making him lift his head in protest.

"It's good," Bill assured him. "So good, it's so...it's almost..." He made a little face, frustrated at being unable to express himself. He grabbed behind him for Tom's wrist, urging him to give Bill fingers again.

"Too good?" Tom teased, smirking as though he were trying not to smile.

"Mmm," Bill mumbled wordless, pleased agreement as Tom slipped his fingers back into the place where they felt so good. "I'm throbbing everywhere." Denied the option to hide, he kissed at Tom's mouth again, grinding forward slowly.

Tom accepted Bill's tongue in his mouth and they made out as Tom kept giving him his fingers, moving them until the ache inside and out made Bill desperate.

"More," Bill pleaded, trying to rub against Tom's stomach, shameless. "More, yes...ah!"

The rich scent of the oil mingled in the air with the heady, almost nose-tickling scent of what Bill was coming to recognize as sex.

"So good," Bill sighed, lining their cocks up with a shaking hand as Tom gave him a third finger. His belly was swirling, his insides were simultaneously leaden and light and he felt hot, as though he were stretched tight around Tom and there was nothing left of him but need. All the while Tom's mouth nudged against his, warm lips enclosing Bill's, hot tongue thrilling against his own, and Bill was ready to faint or burst or...or something. Coming didn't even seem to be an option. Something more decisive, more permanently altering than orgasm; coming apart at the seams, perhaps. As though Tom would leave an indelible mark on Bill when he pushed inside him and took his virginity and Bill _wanted_ that, something etched in his body, his very being to mark him forever Tom's. He trembled and rested his cheek against Tom's shoulder as Tom worked three fingers in and out of him, stretching but not too much to bear, hurting but not enough to stop, transforming Bill into a writhing, erotically-charged vessel for need and - he was sure of it - Tom's cock.

"Tomi," Bill keened, nestling their heads together. He tried to articulate but his plea came out a jumbled spate of incoherent half-words.

Breathing heavily against his ear, Tom gave a small nod. The thick soft dreadlocks of his hair swung against Bill's shoulder. Bill whined in agonized desire as Tom disengaged his fingers.

"Let's take this to the bed," Tom said.

Bill began to nod, frantic and happy, so happy that they were about to do it. He kissed Tom's face and throat as they got to their feet. Tom secured him to his side the way he had before with an arm around him, the other reaching out to grab a flat-bottomed glass container that was emitting the spicy-sweet scent of the oil Tom had used to coat his fingers.

Tom led him from the couch. It was an opulent suite, done up in beautiful colors. Every piece of furniture and tapestry hanging or work of art placed on walls and end tables was well appointed, making the suite both beautiful and tasteful. 

The only thing that Bill cared about as Tom led him into the next room was that it had a big, plush bed.

* * *

Tom couldn't stop kissing Bill as he led him from lounge area to bedroom, and Bill received his kisses very enthusiastically, returning them with interest. In fact, the closer they got the more it seemed as though Bill was leading _him_ to bed, rather than the other way around. Tom stroked at Bill's back and grabbed one buttock in a possessive hand. Bill moaned, sticking his tongue into Tom's mouth and leaning into him, hooking a leg around him when they came to a stop at the foot of the bed. He was so responsive, so sensitive; the way he reacted, the way he simply _was_ fulfilled desires and fantasies within Tom he hadn't even realized he'd been harboring.

“Want you,” Bill mumbled against his mouth, pulling back as though to encourage Tom to topple him to the resplendent red and gold brocade spread.

“Gonna have you,” Tom murmured back, pleased. He licked into Bill's mouth and found the taunting little metal bead on his tongue. Bill's tongue surged against his and they wrestled for dominance of the kiss, tongues pressing back and forth, neither quite giving ground. The boy who'd met his kisses and caresses timidly at first was rapidly transforming beneath his touch to a Bill more eager, receptive and ready to take the next step.

Tom rose up and overtook Bill, lifting him up by the thighs and tossing him onto the bed. Bill gave a small cry and lounged back on his elbows, his dark eyes fixed on Tom, his cock hard and red and standing straight up against the creamy pale skin of his belly.

"In me, Tomi," Bill said, throaty. His eyes burned. "I need to feel you."

Tom nodded, swallowing hard. He was so turned on it hurt; his skin was tight, his cock was leaking pre-come where it stood up proud enough to curve back against his skin, and he was hot and red-faced enough to have been fucking Bill for hours. Not that he'd _last_ for hours... He began to climb onto the bed and Bill's foot on his thigh stopped him.

Bill looked abashed and moderately horrified, as though questioning his own audacity. When Tom gave him a reassuring grin, Bill faltered, "D-Do you think..." He bit his lip and shut up.

"Tell me, it's okay," Tom coaxed. He was glad Bill was speaking up. "Anything. Anything you want." He wanted Bill to be comfortable with him, and he wanted Bill's first time to be perfect.

"Could you take your dreadlocks down?" Bill requested, and bit his lip again.

Tom reached up and yanked at the band, snapping it one-handed. It was too much trouble to disengage the band from his hair and leave it whole. It would take more time than he wanted to spend when he could be getting in bed with Bill. _In_ Bill. He didn't like casual lays handling his dreadlocks; too many tugged on them, or played with his hair, or treated it like the hair wasn't attached to a scalp if they pulled during sex. Bill was different, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on the pulse of why, but Tom knew it in his bones, his blood. It was as though Bill was shaped for him, his intended.

He prowled over the bed toward Bill, getting over him on all fours, and Bill delighted him with a breathless laugh.

"Yes, yes," Bill urged, arching his hips. He reached for Tom, fanning slender but strong fingers against his ribs.

His wanton voice made Tom want to sit back, slick his cock and push right in, but Tom looked down into the amber-brown eyes drowning in black pupil and remembered that Bill was a virgin for him. There were a few more steps they needed to take.

"Do you want to..." Tom's voice emerged in a drugged rasp and he cleared his throat, trying speech again. "It would be easier if you're on your front, on your knees."

Bill's face fell. "Then I won't be able to see you, or kiss you," he said sadly.

A frisson unfurled in Tom's chest, sensation like a hot balloon expanding in his ribs, and he could only smile down at Bill as his heart beat crazed wings against his sternum. It was another confirmation of the connection between them and Tom was sure he'd made the right choice. He touched along Bill's jaw with his fingertips.

"It'll hurt more," Tom warned.

"I can take the pain with the pleasure, so long as it's with you," Bill replied. His dark eyes were steady, his flawless cheeks flushed. He reached up to fit his arms around Tom's neck.

Tom had never felt so proud and responsible for something in his life. Bill was placing an enormous trust in him and he wanted to prove worthy. He dipped for another kiss, warmth shooting through his belly again when Bill opened his mouth readily to Tom's seeking tongue.

"Okay," Tom breathed against Bill's mouth at last. "Okay. Let's peel down the covers and get settled."

Bill kissed his cheek, setting Tom's heart aglow all over again, and joined him in folding over the heavy fabric of the bolster. Tom eyed the fine, wine-dark sheets and hesitated.

"Be right back," he said.

A disappointed noise trailed after him as Tom set off for the bathroom but he was quick. He brought back a few thick, cream-colored towels, spreading one out and patting it with his hand.

Bill wrinkled his face at Tom.

"I don't want to make a mess," Tom explained, "because we have to sleep here, you know? But more than that...those sheets are a really dark red. I don't think I'd see if I, uh, hurt you."

Bill's eyes widened. "You won't hurt me," he said with utter confidence.

Tom smiled over at him and bit his own lip, reaching out to cup Bill's cheek with one hand. His chest was tight. He'd never felt this way before about anyone, none of the girls or boys who'd vied to be with him, or the fewer he'd taken to his bed. For the first time it was as though something was truly his, and not because he'd paid for it.

Bill settled himself on the towel as Tom hovered over him. His eyes all but crossed as Tom got hold of the bottle of oil again, drizzling a few beads over his fingers and putting them back in Bill.

"Oh, oh!" Bill breathed, clutching at the edges of the towel. "Tomi, don't...don't make me wait; I'm gonna..."

Tom knew what he meant. He was increasingly worried he'd get in there and spend himself in Bill's tight heat within a few thrusts. "You're so incredible, so hot," he murmured, hitching closer to Bill and kissing his knee. "I want to try something I've never done before, not with anyone..."

Bill regarded him through hazy, adoring eyes. He made a little noise, a wordless prompt.

"I want to lick you down there," Tom said, and ducked his head. "Sometime, I mean. I bet you taste so good there, too."

"Oh gods," Bill said, his voice strained. "But it's...naughty."

"It'll be so good," Tom assured him. He pulled his fingers out abruptly, kissing Bill's knee again, and poured a palmful of oil that he smoothed over his cock. He hissed, willing it down or at least a bit less excited as it twitched in his hand. When he got up over Bill, their eyes connected again. "Okay, hook your legs over my shoulders?"

He moaned a little as Bill did, proving flexible as well as absolutely enchanting. Poised over Bill with the boy looking up at him trustingly from those expressive, gorgeous brown eyes, all Tom could do was admire for a moment, awestruck and perfectly happy.

"You're everything I never knew I wanted," he breathed, barely aware he was speaking the words aloud.

Bill nodded, breaking into a stunning smile, the amazing grin that had first captivated Tom's attention.

Tom set the tip of his cock against Bill's oiled little pucker, stretching him with something bigger than fingers for the first time. Bill gasped as the head went in, his eyes widening, but didn't seem too discomfited.

He was hot inside, and tight, _boiling_ hot, so soft and inviting that the sensation of Bill's channel closing down around Tom's cock seemed to draw him right in. Tom pushed in to the hilt with a low, amazed grunt, unable to stop the forward motion of his hips. He held himself over Bill, stricken when he realized Bill was biting his lip hard, enough to welt his lip bloodless, and tears welled in the corner of his huge eyes. The first push had been so good, Tom couldn't stop until he was fully inside the welcoming clasp of that viselike heat.

"I'm sorry," Tom gasped out, sympathetic tears springing up in his own eyes. His cock was throbbing so hard he couldn't tell if it was good or painful. Bill was clamped down so tight around him he couldn't move, even if he was thinking of withdrawing.

"No, no!" Bill whimpered, when Tom moved to pull back. His black hair tossed back and forth over the pillow as he shook his head with vigor. He clutched his legs over Tom's back, reaching up to yoke his arms over Tom's neck and secure him in place. "Don't leave me."

"Not going to leave you," Tom replied, reaching between them to cup Bill's cheek as he had before, stroking from the enchanting mole at the corner of his mouth and up to the slant of his cheekbone. He swept his thumb down again, making a little circle at the corner of Bill's mouth. With an effort of will he held still, his hips pressed flush against Bill's narrow ass, cock buried all the way inside, and he waited.

Bill nudged his head to one side, opening his plush lips and taking the thumb into his mouth, sucking on it and dragging his tongue stud in a slow tease against the pad. His cheeks hollowed up and he looked at Tom through half-closed, pleasured eyes.

"Oh, Nihil," Tom groaned, struggling frantically not to surge forward into that exquisitely tight heat. He didn't think Bill was ready yet. He eased his hips forward by the barest increment and Bill was so tight around him he couldn't manage full movement.

Bill's eyes smoldered up at him as he continued to suck Tom's thumb. "Mmm," he moaned, lapping the tip of his tongue around the digit, the bar of his stud bumping against the knuckle as he seemed to be trying to wrap his tongue around it. He lapped and sucked at it, and the scorching heat gripping Tom's cock seemed to relax bit by bit.

"Ohh hells," Tom panted. If it was possible for his dick to get _harder_ , it just had. "Gods, I want to move."

Bill popped off his thumb, giving the end a lick and a little nip, and tightened around him. His legs flexed over Tom's back. "Feels good," he said, half moan, half entreaty. "Please..."

 _Make me feel better,_ Tom intuited, and he could do that. He surged forward, making Bill yip, and dragged his mouth over Bill's in a fervent kiss. Without really pulling out, he began to rock their bodies together.

"Mmm," Bill responded, kissing back hungrily.

"Good?" Tom panted.

Bill simply nodded, his mouth falling open as Tom rolled against and into him and crushed him into the yield of the bed. His nails dug into Tom's back and he appeared already blissed-out, dark kohl streaking at the corners of his eyes. His cock was hard and leaking between their bellies as Tom thrust and thrust.

Drawing back enough to leave only the tip inside, Tom worked himself back into the embrace of Bill's body in a careful glide. Bill moaned and flexed around him, looking ecstatic.

"More," Bill breathed.

"Did I hit it?" Tom wanted to know.

Bill shook his head. "No, but it's still good."

Tom nodded. He brushed their mouths together, his hair forming a kind of jungle curtain around them, before he pushed up on his arms, putting some distance between them. Bill's hands smoothed down his arms, settling on his corded biceps. He arched his back, pushing Tom's cock deeper into him again.

"Okay, more, I get it," Tom said, only half-grumbling as he smiled down at Bill. He nuzzled down for a brief brush of their noses and got up again, working his hips and moving his cock in and out. As Bill relaxed around him, he began to brace himself against the bed with his knees, giving him harder, deeper thrusts.

Bill made little crackling noises that sounded almost pained, his face screwing up several times, but his cock remained hard against Tom's stomach as Tom began to fuck into him steadily.

Once Tom managed to establish a rhythm it was good, so good he wanted to keep their bodies connected forever. Bill was crying out with almost every stroke of Tom's cock now, glowing and looking gratifyingly orgasmic.

He hadn't really _screamed_ though, and Tom figured if he hadn't hit it by now, he didn't really have the right angle. He began to pull out, kneeling up over Bill to join their mouths again when Bill began to whimper and look panicked.

"We're not done, I'm going to make us come," Tom promised, brushing his lips to Bill's, settling over him for a deeper taste when Bill's tongue flicked at his lip ring.

"It feels so good, Tomi," Bill murmured.

Tom grinned down at him. "But I want you to feel _amazing,_ ," he declared. He knelt back, pulling free of the tight embrace of Bill's body despite the soft plaintive noise that Bill loosed. Tom gripped at Bill's thighs and guided them apart. After a moment of frowny contemplation, Tom grabbed one of the smaller pillows from near the headboard and wedged it under Bill's tailbone.

"Please," Bill said, sounding desperate. "Almost...almost there...your cock, please..."

Tom nodded, guiding his hard, red tip back to Bill's entrance and pushing back in with a wince. He slid in more easily and pushed in slow and careful this time, gritting his teeth as he sounded out Bill's depth with the tenderness he should have employed the first time.

"Oh," Bill said, sounding amazed.

"Did I...?" Tom prompted, panting.

Bill's face screwed up as Tom's hips fluttered, pulsing his dick inside Bill in deep strokes. "Oh...oh!" Bill exclaimed, with rising excitement.

Satisfied, Tom reached down to grip Bill's enticing little hips and dragged his cock back and forth inside of him.

"Oh gods!" Bill wailed, arching his back.

Tom abandoned restraint and began to pump in and out. They fell into a frenzied rhythm as Bill wailed and clawed at Tom's arms, the towel, his pillow; anything he could reach.

"Tom, Tom!" Bill sobbed out, grabbing the towel and gyrating down on Tom's cock. "I'm, I'm gonna..."

When Bill began to tighten down in the first helpless spasms of his orgasm, Tom was already on the verge, ready for it. He leaned back on his heels, stomach rippling, bracing himself to thrust hard and deep to bring them both off. He looked from Bill's face down to where they were joined. He watched his red, hard flesh disappearing rapidly into Bill's tight body, watched how Bill stretched around his cock to take him all, and his eyes flashed back up to Bill's face. Bill was flushed, sweaty, and his face was the most beautiful sight Tom had ever seen. Tom reached between them and grasped Bill's twitching cock.

"Tomi!" Bill trilled, and came all over his belly and Tom's hand.

Tom tongued at his lip and thrust harder, groaning as the sight of Bill's climax drew his own right out of him. He half-sprawled over Bill's body, hips still working as he gave Bill his essence. He stretched out a hand for Bill's face and stroked over his throat and sweaty chest.

Bill's eyes were fluttering and his mouth still worked as though trying to produce a last satisfied cry. He lay limply on the bed as Tom stroked his belly, his hips, and thighs that were slung motionless over Tom's legs now. "Ahh...ahhh..."

Exhausted but thrumming with a wonderful kind of high, Tom caressed his hand down and through Bill's dark blond thatch of pubic hair and held him down near the join of leg and hip, easing out with utmost care. A trail of come and oil followed him and he grimaced, reaching for another nearby towel and using it to clean Bill carefully. A sense of unbelievable possessiveness was taking up residence in his chest, making him almost lightheaded as he gazed down at Bill's sated, sleepy face.

He wiped at Bill's red but otherwise apparently unharmed entrance, making sure there was nothing besides the come and oil.

Bill was making little noises, trying to lift himself up and flopping where he lay. "Tomi," he mumbled, and his hands moved in grasping motions.

Tom grinned at him and sprawled out beside him. He couldn't stop touching him, caressing whatever part of Bill was nearest. Even though he'd just had him, instead of being replete, satisfied, Tom needed more and more.

"Was it...?" Tom trailed off, not sure how to phrase it.

Bill lolled about until his head faced in Tom's direction. His eye makeup was streaked at the corner like dark tears, his cheeks red, and he was still the most gorgeous creature Tom had beheld. "Phenomenal," he breathed, his eyes dewed with emotion...or exertion. "So much better than anything I could imagine." He was captivating in his post-coital elation.

"Gods," Tom groaned, rolling onto his side and gathering Bill to his chest. "I'm never letting you go now, you realize."

"Don't want you to," Bill sighed, and nestled against him, slinging an arm to lie lax over Tom's waist.

Tom was hooked on the taste of his skin, the sight of Bill at the height of his pleasure. It was overwhelming, being Bill's first. Even better that Bill seemed equally taken with him. He breathed deep, tugged the bedclothes over them both, and stroked Bill's hair until their breathing evened out and they descended together into a sleep of total contentedness.

He had his Bill. All was right with Tom's world, for now.


	9. Morning Breaks

Sense returned in a glorious rush, stark contrast from Bill's typical grudging emergence from sleep. He was flushed warm and naked in a nest of deep crimson sheets that were soft against his skin. Music was playing in the distance, in the larger portion of the suite, and tantalizing breakfast odors curled into his nose. He stirred in the sheets, stretching luxuriously, grinning as he recalled the night before; the flashes of House insignias across the darkened hall, the long pause when Bill had been sure Bushido had won, the wondering look on Tom's face when he'd come to claim him...

 _Tom._ Bill wriggled in his cocoon of sheets, squeezing his thighs together as arousal surged to the forefront of his awareness. Tom had covered him last night, _had_ him, and Bill's virginity had been reft away in a painful flare of brilliance. He reached down to stroke his cock at the remembrance, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp as he found he could. There was no more belt. Bill whimpered as he remembered Tom moving over him, into him, and he wanted it again and again.

"Oh, you're awake," a young masculine tenor said from the doorway.

Bill hastily pulled his hand away from his very aroused sex. He was possessed of the urge to pull the bedclothes up to his chin.

"Did you sleep well?" Tom continued, walking into the bedroom. "I ordered breakfast for us."

Bill exhaled on a happy note. He remembered everything; it was etched into his memory now sharp as the brightest cutting diamond. Tom wanted them to be equals, lovers. Bill was the luckiest courtesan alive.

He reached out a longing hand for Tom, looking around to take in the furnishings he'd barely glanced at the night before, when Tom was leading him to the bed. "Good morning," Bill said, finding his voice husky with sleep.

Tom's face brightened and he crossed the distance to the bed in swift strides. He was wearing a loose grey robe belted low at his hips and a glimpse of bare chest was visible.

Bill sat up and pushed the bedclothes back, eager for the touch of Tom's skin. The bedroom was enormous; the biggest he'd ever beheld outside of vids, and the trappings were luxurious from window treatments to the modular nightstand.

Still, all the luxury in the world was no competition for Tom, who had reached the bed and was climbing in beside him, his brown eyes rendered in shades of amber and honey in the morning light that flooded through the wide window that afforded a stunning vista from the golden spire. Bill stretched, spanning his body along the red sheets and reaching out greedy fingers for Tom.

“You're so gorgeous,” Tom murmured, his face intent. He stroked Bill's shoulder, gripped it to reel him in, and placed his face within range, hovering near.

Bill closed the distance, letting his eyes drift shut only when their mouths were pressed fully together, noting that Tom was doing the same. He made a pleased sound against Tom's mouth and wound his fingers into Tom's dreadlocks, securing his claim. As long as he was allowed to have one thing in life, this suited him perfectly.

“Now that's a good morning,” Tom said, appearing half-dazed as he drew back. He ran a tongue over his lip and Bill keened softly, wanting more of that contact for his own. 

Bill scratched his fingers gently at Tom's nape to urge him into another kiss, for which Tom obliged. He dipped his head and took Bill's mouth again, this time running the tip of his tongue along Bill's bottom lip.

They kissed for long moments and Bill tightened his arm around Tom's neck, moaning happily when Tom lowered him to the bed. Yes, this, more; was all his thoughts could conjure as their bodies rubbed together. Bill could tell that Tom was naked under the robe as it parted around one thigh and Tom pressed his hardening cock against Bill's stomach.

“You like that?” Tom murmured, before dropping another kiss on his mouth, trailing to connect to his mole, returning to his mouth to dip his tongue between his lips again.

“Yes, yes,” Bill replied, breathless and hard and wanting. He frotted up against Tom, hooking a daring leg over his hip to get better leverage.

Tom groaned in response and moved down against Bill with greater urgency, kissing him again. “You...ohh, Bill, you feel so good...”

“You too,” Bill said, meaning every word. He wanted more kisses and he lifted his chin. He wanted the kind of kisses that would make him melt right into the bedclothes.

“You're not too sore, are you?” Tom mumbled, kissing a patch of skin beneath his ear. His tongue darted out and pressed there as though to taste Bill.

Bill paused, trying to concentrate on the question. He rode out Tom's lazy thrusts against his pelvis. His first response was a literal one – he wiggled in the sheets, clenching his buttocks a bit. He was a little sore back there, he realized, but it was no worse than any mild muscle ache after an unaccustomed exercise.

His eyes widened as he realized the question had been meant because Tom wanted to _have_ him, and a shy grin curved his lips upward as he took in the fact that Tom had asked. Once again, it underscored the fact that Tom considered them equals.

“Not too sore to enjoy you in me again,” Bill said, somewhat shy as he gazed up at Tom through his lashes. It was still so hard to believe. He lifted his other leg to brace himself up against the bed and gasped as Tom pressed down against him powerfully. Tom's brown eyes were dark, his lips parted; his face was struck with gold in the morning light and he appeared half-dazed. Tom was beautiful in his arousal, Bill noted, and reached his other hand up to smooth along his jaw and catch behind one ear to draw him into a kiss.

“You are so...” Tom breathed against his lips, and kissed him heavily, parting Bill's lips with his tongue and delving within.

Bill met the force gladly, winding both arms around Tom tightly. He thrust back up against Tom as they kissed and panted into each other's mouths, writhing and moving faster together. As Tom kissed him, his hands roamed, stroking Bill from collarbones to hips, one hand lingering to tease a nipple up hard, the other descending between them to tickle around Bill's navel and make him squeal up into the kiss.

“Not too hungry?” Tom continued, teasing, and planted a kiss on Bill's cheek. He kissed over his face, dotting kisses at random intervals until his lips dwelled on the mole below Bill's lip, making Bill realize Tom had been kissing all over the moles on his face.

Bill was about to deny it when the traitorous rumble of his stomach emitted loud between them. It growled, collapsing into a pathetic sounding gurgle.

Wide-eyed, Bill stared up into Tom's face, only to find Tom staring back with the same expression. They dissolved into incredulous wide smiles first, then giggles.

“Well, I'm not going to starve you!” Tom declared, rolling off him, making Bill protest with a drawn-out 'noooo.'

Bill kept his hand latched around one of Tom's wrists, delighted with the liberty he was permitted. “I'm not too sore or too hungry to have you,” he said, and tried on a seductive look, shifting on the bed and looking at Tom through his lashes again.

Apparently it was effective. Tom stared at him as though stricken mute. “Umm...” Tom began.

Bill leaned back against the headboard, placing one hand low on his hip. He had to bite his lip as his cock gave a needful twitch. “Don't you want to?” he implored, knowing the fastest way to get what _he_ wanted would be to appeal to Tom's desires, as well.

“If you're sure,” Tom said, looking rapt as he began to shed his robe and crawl toward Bill.

Bill angled his hips up, putting himself on display, and drew on Tom's wrist hard enough to make the other boy sprawl over his thighs. “I'm sure I want you, Tomi,” he replied.

Tom's face lit with an amazing, wondrous smile.

That morning, Bill's goal had been to last longer than the night before. He acceded to Tom's wishes and arrayed himself in a posture that Tom declared would be easier for him, not wanting to tax his previously-chaste passage into soreness. When Tom surged into him, all Bill could do was grip the headboard and ride out wave after wave of pleasure as it felt like Tom was battering directly into his sensitive spot. Bill could only convulse down on Tom and come with a joyful shriek about five thrusts into their second sexual encounter. Luckily, Tom only lasted about five more.

They'd gain stamina with practice, Bill thought with a happy glow, and they withdrew to the bathroom together to get cleaned up for breakfast.

As Bill finished scrubbing off the remnants of the previous day's eye makeup, Tom came up behind him and put his arms around him.

“Hello there,” he said, nuzzling at Bill's cheek.

“Mm,” Bill purred, reaching back to grasp at Tom's waist, reaching a bit too far and grasping a buttock instead. He found himself wishing he'd explored Tom's body a bit more thoroughly in the bathing stall, though their hands had wandered quite a bit.

“Hey,” Tom said, his head lifting as he examined the mirror and their entwined reflections.

“Hmm?” Bill noised inquisitively, dragging the pad over his other eye and paying special attention to the corner.

“Don't you think we look alike?” Tom asked.

Bill's head lifted. “No,” he said at once, puzzled. He had dark, straight hair that fell just past his shoulders, and Tom had thick, heavy dark blond masses of dreadlocks...Bill frowned, peering closer.

“Sure we do, look, your cheekbones, and mouth...”

“I guess so,” Bill said slowly, looking from his face to Tom's as Tom traced over Bill's features with a finger.

"We could be related, the resemblance is that close," Tom continued, frowning at his own face in the mirror. He turned to Bill, examining Bill's features up close. "We look like b--"

Bill leaned forward in a rush and pressed his lips to Tom's, silencing him. He didn't want the similarity to put Tom off. It was there, but not so unremarkable – courtesans did bear children by the noble class, an infrequent occupational hazard. Children of those unions were supposed to be freemen, but many merchant houses whispered of accepting large sums to take such children to be sold as human commodities, keeping them out of some potential line of succession dispute. Bill had never seen his own pedigree; most courtesans didn't.

It was entirely possible Tom was his cousin, or...

“You're much more beautiful, though,” Tom concluded, drawing back and pressing a kiss to Bill's jaw.

Bill frowned harder at his face and grabbed for the nearest makeup brush. There was no way he was attending breakfast without his 'face' on now. He watched Tom leave the bathroom wearing only a towel and smoothed away his frown. He'd been about to say the same of Tom – in Bill's eyes, the other boy was much more beautiful.

When Bill slid onto the low couch where Tom had stripped him of the belt the night before, the young noble was bent over his mobile unit, ignoring the silver-domed breakfast platters arrayed on the table beside him. He looked up at once, though, and gave Bill a smile and a quick kiss as he pulled him in close until they were sitting thigh to thigh.

“I thought we could eat here, instead of the dining area,” Tom offered. “It's so rigid and formal.”

Bill laid his head against Tom's shoulder, briefly overwhelmed. “It's perfect,” he whispered.

“Bill?” Tom said, sounding concerned. His arm went around Bill's shoulders.

“You're so good to me,” Bill said, his voice going hoarse. He squeezed his eyes shut, terrified he would start bawling like a child. “What did I do to earn you, earn this? It's too much.”

“No,” Tom denied, turning on the couch and drawing Bill into a hug. “No, not at all. You're my Bill now. I'd give you anything. You deserve this because you're human, because you're a person. Everyone deserves to have someone who loves them.”

Bill blinked and sat up, looking into Tom's face with searching eyes. Did Tom even realize he'd said it?

Tom took his face between his hands. “You don't have to earn anything. Okay?”

Bill smiled at him and nodded.

“Let's eat, then,” Tom said, and gave him a smile in turn. “I'm starved.”

“What were you looking at on your mobile?” Bill said curiously, uncovering the nearest dome and finding a heap of fluffy, cheesy eggs. His mouth watered.

“News feeds,” Tom replied.

“Oh,” Bill replied, and uncovered the rest of the food. Everything looked so delicious he wasn't sure what to attack first. His stomach growled in earnest.

"I hope you can read," Tom said, drawing Bill into the shelter of his arm until they were snuggled side by side on the wide couch, sharing a cushion intended for one. "Otherwise I'll have to remedy the lack right quick."

"I can read," Bill assured him, setting his sharp chin on Tom's shoulder, glancing at the dark screen of Tom's mobile unit. "I've been trained in dramatic reading. So if you like, sometime I could read you..."

"I'll bet you could even make stocks sound interesting," Tom vowed.

"...erotic poetry," Bill finished, leaning in close and sweeping his lashes over Tom's cheek in a butterfly kiss.

"That is so hot," Tom said after a long moment, staring at Bill with his mouth open.

Bill tucked his chin down in a fair imitation of demureness and reached for a plate, serving out food. "We'll do it later, then," he said. The platters had everything; eggs, shaved ham, cubed fried potatoes, turkey sausage, slices of melon, even a stack of waffles dusted with sugar and dollops of whipped cream. Food might not take precedence over sex with Tom, but it did when erotic poetry was the alternative.

The best part of breakfast, Bill soon discovered, was spearing morsels of food on his own fork and serving them to Tom. A strawberry or melon served to him from Tom's fingers was twice as sweet.

"What other partners have you had?" Bill asked curiously, as they wound down from breakfast and Bill leaned against the couch back, toying with a handful of Tom's dreadlocks. Their breakfast conversation had spanned everything from favorite foods to music to places in the city they should visit that day. Cases of Bill's belongings had been delivered to the suite when they had slept, but Bill would be expected to dress to Tom's tastes, now.

Tom picked up his mobile unit from the side table, clasping it loosely in his hand but not activating it. "Doesn't matter," he replied, turning his head to twitch his nose at Bill.

"You've had experience before me," Bill pressed. An anxious question hovered at the border of his mind that he couldn't quite bring himself to resolve into speech.

"Yes, I have, but none of it mattered," Tom said, stroking down his arm. His open, pleased expression altered somewhat, becoming thoughtful. "I suppose it did, as practice, if I was able to please you."

"You pleased me very much," Bill asserted, ducking against Tom's side.

"Then it was worth it," Tom said. He turned to press a kiss to Bill's mouth. "You're my only lover, all right? I don't want anyone else but you."

Bill was sure his face had to be red, or glowing, or both. He wanted to crawl into Tom's lap, to lose himself inside him. He wanted to make Tom feel as good as the overflow of emotion that gripped him. "I can't wait to get your marque," he blurted.

Tom frowned at him in confusion for a second before enlightenment dawned. "I wish you didn't have to," he replied.

Bill shrugged. "I can't be a freeman," he said, pragmatic about it. "So--"

"I could manumit you--" Tom began, his features etched with adorable sincerity. "Right now. I could make you a freeman today."

"You can't," Bill replied, equally earnest. "It isn't done, Tom; not so soon. Besides, what would I do? I have no trade, no reputation for any contract skills, such as my voice. I'd be your kept lover - I can have that now, with no change in status. I want your marque."

It would be, he hoped, the only one he'd bear all his life.

"All right," Tom said, appearing crestfallen.

Bill cuddled against him again. "You hate slavery, but you want me - it's a contradiction, I know."

Tom sighed and stroked his shoulder. "There's no need for slavery in a society as rich as ours. I wish we could get rid of it. There's no reason you shouldn't be free as I am, you know.”

Bill nudged closer, drawing Tom's arm tight around him and patting his leg as though to comfort him. “And that's one of the things I admire about you,” he voiced. He turned his head to press a kiss to Tom's collarbone, glorying that he could. “I feel like you care about...like you see _me_ for who I am, and not for a courtesan you've purchased to please you.”

Tom kissed his temple and down his cheek. “I do care about you,” he said, breathing hotly against Bill's cheek. “But...ahh, damn and nihil, I haven't purchased you _yet._ ”

Bill's head lifted. “What do you mean?” he said, sluggish and content with breakfast and the nearness of Tom's warmth. The statement seemed as though it should alarm him, but he was currently incapable.

“I mean, I signed a contract with Interscope guaranteeing I'd pay, but I haven't actually paid off your staggering purchase sum yet.”

“I'm sorry I was so expensive,” Bill said woefully.

“I'm not,” Tom denied. He kissed Bill's temple again. “You're worth every _lir_ , and people are going to be talking about it for a generation. The biggest sale of the decade...I bet they're still trying to tally how many records we've broken.”

Bill grinned over at him, cheerful again. “So you'll pay for me, and we'll go out to shop, and get my marque...”

“I suppose,” Tom assented, tugging Bill square to face him for another kiss. “You've thought about where you want your marque, then?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bill responded, his eyes going half-closed under Tom's kisses and the gentle caresses he was giving him.

“Is it a surprise, or are you going to tell me?” Tom wanted to know.

“Here,” Bill said, lifting his hair aside and leaning forward, tapping his nape.

At once, Tom bent forward to press his lips to the unblemished skin. “It's a good place,” he whispered, and tongued at Bill's nape as though tasting him. “I like it.” He blew a stream of cool air over the skin and Bill shivered.

When they sat up, Bill set his head to Tom's shoulder as Tom powered up his mobile unit.

“I can pay for you right here,” he said, tapping through his touch screens. “First I'm going to put a message through to my father, to see if he's changed his mind...”

“Changed his mind about what?” Bill asked, worming a hand between them to stroke over Tom's robe-clad thigh. They were both still in the thin robes provided by the hotel suite. At some point, Bill knew they were going to have to get dressed, but he found himself unwilling.

“Ahh...nothing you have to worry about,” Tom told him, his eyes intent on the display. He tapped through a few more screens and frowned. “That's odd.”

“Hmm?” Bill nosed at Tom's neck, wondering if Tom would want to...again...before they donned clothes and left the suite. He hoped so.

He was very much planning on wrapping his lips around Tom's cock again, and soon.

“My father checked out last night,” Tom replied. “I thought he was planning on staying a few days, at least. Hm.”

"He must not have found a companion for himself," Bill puzzled aloud, walking his fingers around Tom's waist and wanting nothing more than to curl up and purr when Tom's arm tightened around him.

"No, I think he was planning on staying a few days no matter what," Tom said distractedly, paging through more screens. He stiffened. "Huh, he checked our House flitter out of the dock not long after...after the auction."

"Something wrong?" Bill asked.

Tom glanced over at him, a trace of doubt surfacing in his brown eyes. "I'm starting to wonder," he said uneasily. "My father didn't want me to buy you. He started out the bidding after teasing me a bit, but at the last, he was going to let the other high bidder win. I entered the top bid myself."

Bill's eyes rounded. "So...so he's mad at you for spending so much of your House's money?"

Tom shook his head. "I'm paying for you myself. I _had_ to have you, Bill. After that kiss..." he trailed off, eyes focusing in on Bill's mouth, then gave himself a little shake, soft dreadlocks tickling Bill's cheek. "Sure, my father has his pride in never getting swept away with auction fever, never going over his allotted budget, but it was my money. I don't know why he cares." He set his mouth in a thin line and tightened his arm around Bill.

Bill squeaked and the tight grip eased; Tom rubbed a repentant hand over his shoulder. "Maybe he didn't approve of you spending so much of your own money..." Bill began, and trailed off. He didn't understand either, but he didn't know Tom's father.

Tom heaved a sigh. "He told me...he told me I couldn't bring you home with me."

Bill blinked, aghast. That was a shocking ultimatum from a man who'd set out to buy Bill for Tom in the first place. "But why...?"

"I don't know, but I'm glad Interscope comped me this suite for the week," Tom replied. He turned to press a reassuring kiss to Bill's cheek, landing on his nose instead. "Gives me some time to figure things out, for my father to cool off, and most importantly, to unload my assets to pay for you." He reached up with a finger to tap Bill's nose.

Bill grinned and twitched it. "Yes, it's not as though you can return me unopened," he replied, mischievous. "You've already had me, and had me..."

Tom groaned and set his mobile off to one side. "And will have, again."

Practice makes perfect, Bill thought in total ecstasy as Tom did, indeed, have him again. The couch was narrow and all helpful oils a long way off, so they pleasured one another by hand and mouth and afterward, another shower was in order.

Bill pillaged the cases for something to wear, humming to himself as he thought ahead to the shopping they'd do. He was looking forward to styling himself to Tom's tastes, and had the sense that Tom would give him more or less free reign to dress as he liked. Now that he was an owned courtesan, and most certainly no longer chaste, he could dress in more alluring styles, more fitted clothing. Display more skin.

"Hell's bellows," Tom said from the couch.

Bill looked up from lacing up a pair of black trousers. "Something wrong?"

"I can't access my assets from my mobile," Tom replied. "Should have known...I'm trying to liquidate a significant amount of _lir_ , they're not going to let me do it without a fight."

"Why not?" Bill asked, guileless and somewhat worried. Tom had said he hadn't paid for him yet, after all, and if the Head Lord Noble wasn't guaranteeing Tom's purchase...a twinge of unease knifed through Bill's stomach. He had no idea what would happen, it was above his head. Nevertheless, the prospect of an uncertain future was frightening.

"Sometimes when you sell a large amount of shares, it can affect the value of the overall stock for a company," Tom explained, getting to his feet and pocketing his mobile. "It's okay. We've got time to visit those financial offices today, and still get in some shopping." He offered Bill a reassuring smile and his hand, indicating they were to leave the suite.

Bill arched a brow. There was something Tom was forgetting, but he wasn't surprised. He'd retrieved it from the suitcase himself.

"You need to collar me, Tom," he reminded the young lord in a soft tone.

Tom's brows arched. "Do I have to?" he said with a sigh, approaching Bill. He got an arm around him and stroked his face with reverent fingertips.

Bill gravitated into the touch with a smile. "You know you do," he replied. "Especially when I'm not yet wearing anything with your House insignia."

"You're with me," Tom said with a touch of arrogance. "No one will give you trouble."

Bill grinned at him and held up a thin strip of black leather adorned with spiky silver studs in front. "I like this one," he said. "If you don't mind."

Tom sighed again, pressed a kiss to his lips, and fastened the collar around his neck. It took him a couple of tries to get the catch and he stroked Bill's nape as though apologizing.

"We should go," Tom said. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back."

"And you can have me again," Bill replied, assuming a demure smile.

Tom grinned over at him. "Careful; if you keep talking like that, we'll never get out of the suite to begin with."

They left hand in hand. Bill was thrumming with happiness so great, he was sure Tom or anyone who was close enough should be able to hear his blood sing.


	10. Frozen

As they emerged from the private suite and found Padma waiting to escort them to the Interscope docking bay, Tom couldn't keep himself from looking at Bill, touching him, and if it weren't for the necessity of going out to free up the finances to finalize the purchase of him, Tom would have taken him right back to the suite. He'd summoned Padma through Interscope's help system while Bill had been getting dressed, and if the black-haired courtesan had looked alluring the night before, today he looked positively irresistible.

Padma was a lovely woman, and she'd caught Tom's fancy yesterday with her striking, high-cheekboned face and the exotic slant of her eyes.

Today, with the comparison of Bill beside him, she faded to plainness and Tom could spare no regret. Bill was slim and striking in fitted black trousers with an astonishing amount of superfluous zippers, a silver chain dangling in the back from his belt that swung over one hip. He wore a tight black shirt cut low enough to reveal the collar around his neck. Down the front, the shirt was blazoned with a pile of silver skulls, one of which had ruby-glowing eyes and golden wings jutting up like elf ears. His layered dark hair was spiked up around the crown of his head in small tufts, and he was wearing flawless makeup that outstripped the freewoman concierge's.

"I've put a flitter on reserve for you, Lord Noble," Padma said in her dulcet tones, her gaze flickering only briefly to Bill before resolving on Tom.

"Thank you," Tom said, bunching his brow in a frown again over his father's abrupt departure. His father had planned not only to attend the auction but to spend several days in the city in order to accomplish other business; his precious face time, as he called it, cementing alliances and business deals with other important Houses. "Did you see my father last night?"

"I did," Padma confirmed, gliding toward the lift.

Tom was grateful to have her guidance once more. He'd been so wrapped up in Bill the night before, he hadn't the faintest idea what floor they were on, even; he had no idea how to get anywhere within the golden spire, let alone how to make it to the docks or requisition a craft. That particular charge would no doubt make it to the House account by the time he checked out. Interscope wouldn't comp everything, after all.

"And how did he...seem?" Tom ventured. He reached out his hand and brushed fingertips over warm flesh; the back of Bill's wrist. Bill turned his hand and threaded his fingers into Tom's, returning his look with a happy little smile.

"I couldn't venture to guess," Padma replied.

"Ah," Tom said. His sense of unease deepened and he tightened his hand on Bill as little things began to click into place in his head. His father's reaction was completely out of scope if the only issue was money. There was something else in play.

The silence in the elevator might have been awkward if Tom hadn't been so focused on Bill. They stood thigh to thigh although there was plenty of room. Tom wanted to put an arm around him, but knew that would be pushing the bounds of decorum with Padma there, and Interscope's cameras. There was something innately reassuring in Bill's touch, and he craved it.

When Padma brought them to the bay where the Interscope flitters were housed, she gestured elegantly for one in particular. "It's been keyed to the print we have on file for you, Lord Noble," she told him.

"I appreciate it," Tom said with a nod, squeezing Bill's hand when slender fingers twitched against his palm.

"Oh, and milord...?" Padma added, leaning in close until her long, dark tail of hair brushed near to his sleeve.

Tom raised his brows.

"...your Head Lord Noble father seemed very angry when he boarded the Kaulitz flitter last night," Padma said, and stepped back, a slim finger pressed against her full lips.

Tom lifted his chin in slight acknowledgment, looking up to the cameras at the far end of the bay. "Thank you for your assist."

Padma gave him a nod. "When your craft broadcasts docking coordinates, I or another concierge will be here to greet you."

"Interscope's the best!" Tom said, giving her a wave before providing Bill an arm up into the flitter.

Taking the House Kaulitz flitter into the city had been a gorgeous panorama of an experience. Driving the Interscope loaner from the golden spire was on another level entirely, with a lapful of excited Bill poring over the controls and sights to be had from each of the craft's five windows. Tom keyed in directions for the nearest shopping complex and let the craft pilot itself so that he could devote both hands to Bill.

He'd thought about hitting up the financial bloc first, but Bill's flushed excitement was too much for him to resist. Not to mention, his earlier eagerness to get Tom's House insignia tattooed on him as his marque had caused a reordering of Tom's priorities for the day's agenda. Of course, securing the funds to pay off Bill officially was important, but making sure that Bill was enjoying himself ranked high with him as well.

As phenomenal as the view was, Bill turned from it when they were halfway there to share more heady kisses.

Tom took Bill's face between his hands and devoted himself to returning each one, with interest.

Their first stop of the day was a multi-complex that had all kinds of mixed commercial stores, from clothing to music to ice cream. There was also a respected tattoo artist's shop, the kind that typically made time for advanced bookings only. Tom took Bill to the upper level where the shop had a view of the vortex-space of the open middle of the building, each tier of the complex opening onto a hollow core that was hung with greenery suspended beneath a glass skylight. Bill paced himself at the usual subservient two steps behind Tom until Tom put a stop to that.

"If anyone can't stand seeing you walk beside me, they can shove it," Tom said firmly. "Besides, I'm not going to risk getting separated from you in a crowded place like this, you know?"

"Oh," Bill said, and the curve of his lips as well as the light in his eye hinted that he was pleased. "Yes, milord." Once again, he placed a slight emphasis on the possessive part of the word that put a grin on Tom's face.

The tattoo artist's receptionist was a pretty young woman who looked them over and found an opening on the books. When Tom offered an advance tip, she merely replied it would be good business to have House Kaulitz on the wall of their customers, and Tom remembered the advantage of his name all over again. He didn't often try for special favors, but he'd been under the impression that usually it was the leverage of money that got his father his way so often.

He went into the private room with Bill and held his hand there as Bill quivered and bit his lip while the black-inked needle went buzzing over his skin. At first Tom thought he was in pain and he smoothed a worried hand over Bill's face, his thigh, again and again until the artist finished up his work, blotted Bill's nape and set a bandage over it, and left them alone for Bill to collect himself.

When Tom received a lapful of Bill, pressing against his belly with the distinct prominence of arousal, _then_ Tom understood.

"I can really feel it; your marque," Bill whispered into his ear, licking and nipping at the lobe. "I'm so happy to be yours, visibly yours so everyone can see."

"You want me to..." Tom began, fingering the button at the top of Bill's trousers. He was struck dumb with how much he wanted everything that was in his arms.

The only act that would leave no evidence would be to satisfy him with his mouth.

Flushed and bright-eyed, but no longer quite rumpled after pulling their clothes into order, they left the shop not long after. Tom had a set of instructions that had been sent to his mobile unit for the care of Bill's tattoo, which reminded him he'd have to see about getting Bill a mobile of his own. It wasn't normally done, but Tom had already decided Bill would be sharing most aspects of his life and he'd have Bill in the capacity of a personal assistant when they weren't otherwise pleasantly diverted.

Bill was more than some kind of movable art, some walking, talking doll that existed to sing or recite poetry or serve up drinks while dressing beautifully. Tom intended for everyone to know that.

"Clothes?" Tom suggested, tugging at a hank of Bill's hair to draw their faces near.

Bill turned anxious eyes his way. "Shouldn't we make sure you can free up your finances before you spend more money?"

Tom chuckled. "I'd be putting it on our House account. Your purchase price is the only thing I'm using my own personal assets to cover. The marque was paid for with our House account, and all the shopping we're about to do, and when I check out of Interscope at the end of the week, any fine dining or losses at the gaming tables will be covered by House Kaulitz, too."

Bill wrinkled up his nose. "It sounds very easy. I didn't realize it wasn't all your own money!"

Tom shrugged. His House was rich and he knew he tended to take that for granted, but he didn't know what it was like for that _not_ to be the case.

"All right, then, so long as we're here," Bill began with a sly sidelong glance. "I want to make sure I'm dressing to your taste, milord."

Tom didn't even bother to look around the crowded tier; he acted on instinct, leaning forward to take Bill's mouth until Bill purred happily against him.

"I want you to dress to your taste," Tom said, after regaining his breath. He grinned over at Bill, who was widening his eyes with incredulity. Tom gestured to himself broadly. "Come on, do I look like I care what other people think of my style?"

Now Bill's glance turned appraising, and although Tom enjoyed the spark of confidence rising, it made him a little nervous. "If you let me pick out some clothes for you, too..."

"No, no," Tom said firmly. "There's no need to make me over. Let's get you whatever you want today, and we'll go from here, okay?"

That lingering appraisal remained for a second and the uncomfortable thought squirmed through Tom's head that Bill was mapping out a plan for eventual Tom-renovations but he would ease him into it, like taming a bird to hand. It was dispelled in the next instant by Bill's bright, wide smile.

"You're being too good to me, Tom," Bill informed him, drawing back to a more decorous distance and running his nail along Tom's shirt, near the insignia of House Kaulitz on his lapel.

"I'm going to have fun proving to you there's no such thing," Tom replied. He flicked the tip of his tongue against his lip bolt and admired the way Bill's eyes dilated in response.

Bill caught at his own lip with his top teeth. "Are we going to shop, or go back to the flitter?" he inquired archly.

"Shop, we're shopping," Tom replied.

They browsed through several stores, long enough for Tom to contemplate regret over giving Bill free reign. The black-haired boy seemed to gravitate toward wilder styles, contrasting textures and patterns that Tom would never have thought to match, getting an array from formal-style suits to t-shirts and tank tops and, with a coy glance at Tom, a stack of underwear including some thongs. At that point, Tom had to be glad they were in a crowded store otherwise he would have reached for Bill and hustled him to the nearest private cubicle.

"Underwear, hm?" Tom said in a low rasp, catching Bill by the hips while a couple of shop assistants wrapped up Bill's heap of purchases.

"Well, I was always in the belt before, so I need some..."

Tom widened his eyes. "I completely forgot about that," he said, abashed. "I was thinking you wouldn't need it for, um, other reasons."

Bill's lively expression lit with amusement.

They had lunch on an outdoor terrace of the multi-complex before moving on to the financial bloc. There, as with the complex, Tom indicated Bill was to walk beside him, despite disapproving looks from older executives in the hallway. His status was sufficient to get him entry to his own personal financial manager without an appointment, although he and Bill had to wait in an outer office for the man to get out of a meeting.

"Lord Noble Kaulitz," the financier, Pat Benzner, said with an urbane smile. He extended his hand to indicate the door to his office with a sweeping gesture. "Perhaps you'd like to leave your...companion...here in the outer office while we discuss business."

Tom's brows rose. He hadn't seen his financial manager in months, but the man didn't seem surprised to see him today. It was piling onto a list of incongruities that had been making him increasingly suspicious.

"Bill can join us," he replied, not caring for the idea of separating from him. Considering that liquidating most of his assets would take an hour or more to accomplish, the prospect of being parted from him for that long was even less attractive.

Benzner's expression altered, becoming opaque, less friendly. "This is not a matter for someone of lesser status to listen in on, Lord Noble," the financier said at last.

Tom glared at him. "That's for me to decide--" he began heatedly, unable to keep from rising to the bait.

"Milord," Benzner said with curt emphasis. It was the kind of 'adult' tone that Tom hated, and he wanted to remind the man there was definitely a difference in status. Point being, Tom was the one who decided whether it mattered – considering his was the highest rank.

He opened his mouth to say something, and shut it in the next instant as Benzner continued, "This won't take long."

Tom huffed through his nose and looked over at Bill, who was withdrawing toward the couch where they'd been waiting. He had assumed a very subservient posture, his head bent, eyes downcast. Grimacing, Tom turned back to Benzner. "You don't even know why I'm here today," he began.

"You tried to access your personal assets this morning," Benzner said calmly. "Please, milord, if we could speak privately in my office..."

"No," Tom said, his suspicions flaring into a raging firestorm of disbelief. "You knew I tried to liquidate my shares, cash in my bonds? Then..."

"Please, milord, we should speak in my office..." Benzner altered his tactics to plead.

"...why was I blocked?" Tom concluded furiously.

Benzner looked over at him for an instant, lips compressed narrowly, and leaned in to speak, lowering his voice. "Milord, your personal assets have been frozen."

"What!?" Tom burst out, though the dense drop of his stomach was only the culmination of his growing sense of dread. "You can't do this, Master Benzner. You and your office don't have the authority--"

"I'm truly sorry, Lord Noble," Benzner said, and appeared to be sincere, if only because Tom was making a scene on the verge of his front offices. "We do not, but your Head Lord Noble has ordered the suspension of any movement on your accounts and diversified holdings."

Tom drew himself up tall, noting distractedly as he did so that he was taller than the fussy, well-groomed financier. "You're right," he said, taking in a breath to steady himself. "That didn't take long."

"Milord..." Benzner said, as Tom turned and reached for Bill, tangling his fingers with the black-haired boy's hand, more for comfort now rather than out of any sense of possessiveness.

Tom waved a hand over his shoulder. "There's nothing you can do about it, Benzner, I understand. I'll have to speak with my father directly."

And he had every intention of doing so.

"What's going on?" Bill demanded in hushed tones as Tom stormed out of the financial bloc. With his long legs, he kept up easily with Tom's frantic pace.

"My father's put a lock on my assets," Tom said grimly. "I intend to find out why." He had growing suspicions of his own, and he was tempted to phone up House Ebel before he spoke with his father to see if he could get confirmation. Of course, the merchant would only deny it, so there was little point in trying to find proof through that method.

Bill's eyes went ghastly wide and he squeaked. "Tom...Tomi, what does that mean?" he demanded. They came to a halt just outside the Interscope flitter and he clung to Tom's loose sleeve with anxious fingers.

"I'll get it sorted, don't worry," Tom soothed, catching Bill's face between his hands.

Bill's worried face reflected Tom's own self-doubt back at him.

Tom sighed and stroked the soft skin of Bill's jaw. He pressed a kiss to his sweetly-glossed mouth. "I'll take care of it," he promised. He _had_ to. There was no going back on Bill, not now.

He set a course for Jorg's city office after checking with the House Kaulitz seneschal to make sure that his father was, in fact, working that day instead of taking his ease on the estate. Jorg Kaulitz worked for at least a portion of most rest-days, though he observed all major religious holidays as most businessmen did, given the perfunctory nature of their spiritual devotions. Tom hoped he, himself, never got so wrapped up in business affairs that he spent the majority of his time on it. He wanted to pursue an occupation that filled his hours with enjoyment, not something that sucked the marrow out of his soul.

In the executive spire, Tom settled Bill on a waiting room couch, squeezed his hands hard enough to leave red marks, and left him with a few fervent kisses. This meeting, he knew, he'd have to face without Bill.

"I'll be back soon," he promised. "I need to get this resolved, and we can enjoy the rest of our day – our week at Interscope – together."

"Okay," Bill replied, shaky but clearly determined to follow Tom's lead.

Tom nodded. _Okay_ he thought, he was going to make it be okay. He pressed a final kiss to Bill's forehead, turned and squared his shoulders, and for once wished he'd worn something more formal than the loose-fitting clothes and low-riding, slouchy trousers that made up his own particular brand of style. His father never took him seriously, but today Tom was deadly serious.

Depending on the executive assistant of the day, Tom might have been left cooling his heels in the outer office, or given a crack at busting into his father's tightly-ordered daily schedule. Ganesha was on his side; Dunja was at the desk that day and she slotted him in with a sympathetic twist of her expressive mouth.

Tom shut the door behind him and confronted his father in the inner office. Like many high-level masters and Nobles of wealthy status, Jorg had an upper-floor office with an amazing view of the shining city. When Tom was younger and his father would take him in to work with him for short stretches of time, the office with its stunning view was always what drew his attention first.

Today he was completely focused on the man behind the desk, three different displays up and configured to different sites.

"Father," Tom said, determined to start the encounter with a modicum of respect, at least. He kept the rage simmering below the surface for now.

Jorg barely glanced up from his work. "What do you want, Tom?"

"You know what I want," Tom said, his voice vibrating with the barely-controlled anger within him. "You have no right to freeze _my_ personal assets. You can't do this. I've bought Bill; I need to discharge my debt and pay for him."

Jorg looked up, his own jaw tight, his face filling up with a slap of angry color. "You purchased him against my explicit say."

"I was registered for the auction in my own right!" Tom countered. His fists clenched. "I've already _had_ him, father; I can't exactly give him back."

Jorg surged up out of his chair, towering over Tom by several inches yet. "And I told you, you're never bringing that little whore to _my_ house, my estate that I've built up and acquired through years of hard work and political maneuvering, my life's efforts--"

"Bill is not some filthy slut I'm dragging home as a stain on the family name!" Tom bellowed, interrupting his father as he'd never done before. "He belongs with me now, he's _my_ lo—my courtesan, and I need to pay for him with _my_ money!"

Jorg gulped in a deep breath as though to launch an aggravated volley in return, and swelled to alarming proportions. For a suspended instant Tom thought his father's eyes would actually bulge out of their sockets. "Paying for him is your problem, now," Jorg said, falling back to a smug sort of derision.

"You made it your problem when _you_ froze my assets!" Tom returned angrily, advancing on his father's desk by a few steps. This had escalated out of control. First Jorg had refused to increase the bid - _after_ looking through Bill's pedigree, Tom recalled now. He'd been so swept away in the bidding at the time, and the prospect of losing Bill, that he hadn't taken note of the specifics of his father's behavior. After Tom had won, Jorg had thrown out the unprecedented ultimatum of denying Tom the right of bringing his courtesan – as Jorg would look at it, Tom's _property_ \- home to the family estate. The desperation inherent in ordering a hold on the assets Tom needed to pay for Bill, along with what Tom had noticed that very morning in the mirror, was pointing Tom to a chilling conclusion.

Jorg folded his arms with an obdurate expression.

Dredging up his trump card, Tom flung out angrily, "Is this because Bill is my brother?"

Jorg's face drained of color in a heartbeat and he leaned against his desk. "What did you say?" the man rasped, sounding like his voice had been dragged over broken glass.

"I don't care about that..." Tom started. It was illegal to sell a noble's child into slavery, whether the issue had been with a courtesan or no, but the disgusting nature of their society dictated that it did happen. Jorg had probably done it to sweep away any evidence of dalliance from his new wife, given Bill's age.

"Get out," Jorg thundered, reaching for his desk console and groping for the button that would summon building security. "Get out of my office at once! Don't _ever_ say such a thing again, ever--"

"I don't care if he is!" Tom shouted. "Look, he's my age, I get it; you must have cheated on mother even around the time you contracted with her. That doesn't matter to me now; I don't care that you fathered another son, whatever...I want to keep him by my side. He's mine, he's my Bill."

Jorg drew himself up to his intimidating height and his glare was withering. "That creature will never step foot in my House as long as I am Head of the Noble Kaulitz House."

Tom stumbled back a few steps in the face of his father's overwhelming ire. "Father, you can't--"

"I can, and I will!" Jorg roared. "Get out! GET OUT, or I'll have you thrown from these offices!" A vein stood out on his crimson neck, terrifying contrast to the lividity of his face.

Tom backed up until he hit the door, then turned and all but fell through it. As he closed the door behind him, he was mortified to realize that his fingers were shaking.

Dunja's expression was impassive as Tom passed hurriedly by the reception area but Tom caught a hint of sympathy in her hazel eyes.

He hurried back to the waiting area, relief flooding him like blood rushing into starved limbs at the sight of Bill waiting perched on the couch where he'd left him. A small part of Tom had been terrified that somehow, Jorg could have had Bill taken away while they fought. He couldn't be returned to House Ebel, but sold again...there was another matter. He'd never suspected his father of that kind of moral outrage. Sexual relations between siblings weren't common, but they weren't unheard-of, either. Only certain fringe religious sects were opposed to same-sex incest, but Jorg never spoke much of religion at all.

Religion was the only blindly-unreasoning factor Tom could think of to explain this sudden rage of his father's. It wasn't as though there was any question that the succession of House Kaulitz would be going to Tom, after all.

 _What am I going to do?_ the thought pierced through Tom as a shard of despair, even as he gathered Bill into the protective circle of his arm.

Tom was of age now; he would have to find the means to make this right.

"What's happening?" Bill whispered, as Tom drew him along at a quick pace, still wary of the threat of security.

"It's only a temporary setback," Tom replied, trying to firm his expression into a reassuring smile.

Bill's wide, dark eyes remained unconvinced.

Tom wanted nothing more than to pull him aside and reassure him, but he couldn't even quell his own fears that the situation was spinning fast out of his control.


	11. Coping Mechanisms and Confessions

The shining city was spread out along the three forward windscreens like a box of precious gems strewn over hammered steel and gold, yet Bill had eyes solely for the pensive young noble beside him. As they transferred from executive building to flitter, Tom's attitude had changed completely from determined to something far more shaken. The fingers that clutched at Bill's as they whisked through the spare elegant halls had been desperate, even clinging. He spoke little, seeming lost in his thoughts.

Bill would have stayed in his own seat on the ride back to Interscope, still and quiet, but Tom had tugged him into his lap again and secured an arm around his waist. And so Bill sat in Tom's lap and watched him chew at his lip, frowning. He toyed with a dreadlock that fell over Tom's shoulder and stroked the young lord's arm.

There was nothing Bill could do to improve the situation between Tom and his lord noble father. He was guessing that Head Lord Noble Kaulitz had refused to unblock the assets Tom needed to pay off Bill's purchase. He could sense the tension in Tom's wiry frame. As Bill had never heard of this situation before, neither in courtesan historical accounts or gutterwash vid dramas, he had no opinion to offer.

All he could do was focus on Tom; try to make Tom feel better, do his best to anticipate Tom's needs and pay attention to every small cue. It flooded him with a forlorn brand of helplessness. All Bill was capable of doing was looking pretty and giving Tom a massage or a song, if that was what he wanted. He had no leverage, no negotiation skills.

"Tom?" Bill questioned in a soft tone, easing his thumb against the hard line of a tendon when the silence had spun out for so long Bill thought they might strangle.

Tom flinched. He began moving his hand over the plane of Bill's lower back in slow, soothing motions. "I'll take care of this."

Bill didn't ask how, because his role was to be supportive. He laid his head on Tom's shoulder and cuddled an arm around him as though the other boy was a human body pillow.

"I'll get a lawyer," Tom continued. "One who specializes in finance and property law."

Bill could only nod, nuzzling against Tom's jaw and placing a small kiss at the hinge. Tom would make it right because it had to be so, for them. Bill made up his mind on that score.

Tom disentangled from his hold to pilot the craft back into Interscope's docking level, but reeled Bill in close to his side once more as they exited. Padma was waiting with her head bowed.

"We have purchases in the craft, if someone could see to them, please," Tom informed her.

Padma inclined her head, turning to glide off in advance of them while slipping a mobile unit from a hip pocket. She keyed something in while she led them out of the docking area.

"Can I arrange dinner reservations for you this evening, milord?" she inquired, while Bill admired the subtly sexy way her hips worked beneath the sheath of her uniform pants.

No matter how he practiced his walk, he'd never manage that kind of effortless glide. Women's hips were jointed differently. Padma _rolled_ where Bill strutted.

"No, I..." Tom began, before breaking off.

Jealous, Bill imagined for a second that Tom had been staring at Padma's walk too until he looked over and found Tom's warm brown eyes on him.

"Yes," Tom contradicted himself, and reached over to stroke Bill's cheek as though in wonder to find him there beside him. "Yes, book us into something fine dining. New-German cuisine, not anything Eastern."

They settled the details of which restaurant, as there were three new-German fine dining establishments; what time, what kind of dress would be expected as they walked along the hallways to the lift that Padma gestured them to board.

"Oh," Tom said when those items were settled. He sounded startled. "I didn't ask whether _you_ want new-German--"

"I love it," Bill assured him, trying to tug his arm from Tom's to walk a respectful distance.

Tom wouldn't let him. "Then we'll enjoy it later," he said, giving Bill a smoldering look.

Bill had to bite his lip to stifle a wanton little groan, sure of what that look promised. He wanted to be under Tom with an aching suddenness that made his belly draw tense with anticipation.

"Then, if you require no further assistance," Padma interjected, her tone discreet. Bill looked over to find the woman with her gaze averted, the smallest of smiles playing over her full mouth. "This lift will take you to your floor. If you need guidance to the restaurant, do give me a page through the help system."

Tom thanked her for her assist and drew Bill with him onto the elevator.

The doors had barely sealed shut before Tom was on him, crowding Bill against the side of the elevator and somehow managing to toggle the button for their floor in passing.

"I know I should search out a lawyer first, but gods--" Tom nipped at his throat. "I want you. More than anything, I want to be with you right now."

"Anything," Bill managed, tilting his head to one side and tugging his collar down with trembling fingers, urging Tom with wordless fervency to mark him, set his teeth in soft skin.

Tom kissed there instead, laving his tongue against Bill's pulse with a low groan. "Want you," he repeated.

"Right here?" Bill wondered aloud, breathless but eager for it. If Tom asked, if he merely indicated it was his desire, Bill would go down on his knees in the lift.

Tom chuckled against his damp skin and nipped the side of his throat again, leaving the barest impression of teeth before delivering another sucking kiss. "No, no...not here, we can...nnnh, wait until we get to the suite."

"I can give you a massage," Bill offered, skimming his hands up and down Tom's back. The tension gathered in his shoulders was easing the more attention he devoted to Bill, but it was still crouched, waiting. "Anything you need to relax."

Tom petted him, stroking down Bill's front and smoothing over the skimpy top. His hands settled low on the gap above the belted line of his trousers, on the strip of skin bared by Bill's clinging top. "I just need you," he whispered, and his dark eyes were intense.

Bill lit up from the inside out with a pleased smile. "Have me," he invited, still somewhat shy over it. He was caught between sensations, enjoying the newness of everything that burned so bright between him and Tom, yet also reluctant to wear it out, for Tom to become too accustomed to him, some day to cast him off for another.

Ducking his head in to nuzzle at Bill's neck again, Tom brushed his lips against Bill's ear. "Are you...too sore?"

Heat flamed up into Bill's face and he knew it would be a while yet before his shyness, at least, would wear off. Tom was so bold about it; that was part of his embarrassment. Bill could consider sex when he _wasn't_ in a sexual context, but here and now with Tom's hands roaming and breath roughening in his ear, he was off-balance, belly swirling with the heady mix of lust and certainty that he was going to take Tom inside him, again.

"A little," Bill whispered back, "but I still want to."

Tom drew back, frowning. "You're sure?" he pressed.

The delicate line between his brows denoted concern and Bill smiled, reaching up a finger to try and smooth it away. "I'm certain," he said, ignoring the fact that he couldn't really know, not when he had been so recently chaste. It didn't hurt, was the point; there was occasional _awareness_ down there, and sometimes slight pain the likes of which he'd experienced with strained muscle, but there was no constant throbbing, no ongoing discomfort when he sat down. He'd heard about different types of pain after being taken for the first time, and Bill was pleased that his compared to none of them.

Tom had been especially tender with him, he was sure.

The playful gesture had made Tom smile and Bill leaned in for another kiss, sure he was going to get what they both wanted, now. Tom's arms wound around him as he kissed Bill, hard, even lifting him up off the floor and making him squeak against his lips.

The halting of the lift was a momentarily unwelcome delay. Hand in hand, they hurried back to the suite and tumbled through the door that opened to Tom's swiped thumbprint.

Not two steps in, Tom was kissing him as though their lives depended on it, joining their mouths and swiping his tongue over Bill's bottom lip, questing for entry. Bill let him in gladly, tugging at Tom's shirt in a mute plea for bare skin. Tom seemed reluctant to part from his lips long enough to shed it, but managed and cast the loose garment aside.

The moment Tom released him, Bill wriggled out of his own shirt, wincing as fabric caught at his sensitive nape.

"Are you all right?" Tom swept Bill's hair off his neck and turned him in his arms, peeling up a corner of the bandage and hissing. "We should get you some pain meds."

Bill turned in Tom's arms, licking his own lips, kissing at Tom's lips and joining their mouths, remembering Tom's injunction to be his lover as he nibbled boldly at his lower lip and thrust his tongue into Tom's mouth.

"You know what else works? Endorphins," Bill informed him, reaching into Tom's loose pants and tracing out the hardness stretching out the front of his undergarments. "Sex. We should be having it."

"Oh," Tom panted, and reached for the ties to Bill's pants. "I'm up for it."

Bill moaned and hooked his arm around Tom, rubbing their bare chests together as Tom worked on his pants. He aligned them, pressing their nipples together and gasping softly when Tom's tightened against his. "Tom, Tom," he chanted softly, and gasped a little when they brushed up against one another again. He was fascinated watching Tom's flat little nipples pebbling up hard at the touch of his own. He reached up to brush a thumb over the nearest, wondering if it would feel as good to Tom as what Tom had done to him.

Tom undid his laces and pushed the trousers down Bill's thighs, lifting his head to give Bill a glimpse of dilated eyes and his mouth, full and reddened from their heavy kisses. "Want to...gods, want everything with you, Bill," he told him, stretching forth for another kiss. He played his fingers around Bill's trousers and grasped the back of them, pulling Bill against his body.

"Mmm," Bill responded, opening his mouth to the urgency of Tom's tongue. Their tongues curled and stroked together, warm and involved, giving Bill the sense of liquid, of movement and heat. He could wrap himself up in Tom's kisses and lose himself in only that much.

Tom's hands eased up and down over the curves of his ass, bringing their bodies together and caressing over Bill at the same time.

Bill made an anxious noise into their kiss, reluctant to part from Tom's mouth but eager to progress. "Want," he said against Tom's cheek when they resurfaced.

"Me too," Tom said, his voice throaty. He nibbled on Bill's lip, traveled down and kissed along the curve of his jaw, and dabbled his tongue against Bill's sensitive earlobe. "I wanna lick you."

"Oh, please," Bill replied with a shiver, not knowing where but if Tom wanted it, that was something Bill wanted to be part of.

Tom's fingers stroked into the cleft of his rear, petting down into the area that Bill's chaperones had kept waxed hairless. Bill intended to keep doing so, for aesthetic reasons as much as habit. "I want to lick you down there," Tom clarified, and swirled the tip of his tongue into the outer shell of Bill's ear. 

Bill squeaked, clenching his hands against Tom's bare waist.

"You don't want to?" Tom asked, sounding uncertain.

"I...I'm not..." Bill began, breathless. "Let me...go freshen up first?" It wasn't that he didn't want to, he realized as they pulled apart to look at one another. Tom's eyes were dark with desire and his tongue was tracing over his lip as he regarded Bill with an expression that hinted he'd find Bill delicious no matter what.

Tom blinked, broke into a grin, and leaned to peck at his mouth. "Okay, but don't take long?"

Bill gave a little headshake. He had to return the kiss, pursuing it until he nudged Tom's lips apart, swirled his tongue stud between their mouths, and sucked on Tom's bottom lip until it was good and wet and they were both panting.

"I couldn't stay away from you for long, knowing you're waiting," Bill replied, catching his lip in his teeth again. He grinned over at Tom when the young noble's face lit up.

"Wait," Tom told him as Bill began to pull away.

Bill made an inquisitive noise, pausing in the act of disentangling from Tom.

Tom reached up and unhooked the collar with careful hands. "No need for this," Tom said, holding it for an instant as though he'd strangle it before dropping it to the side. He kissed Bill again, traveling from a soft brush to his jaw on down to his neck, covering up the place the collar had been with soft nibbles.

"Tomi," Bill gasped out as Tom kissed harder, trailing little bites with enough strength to imprint against his skin. "Give me a minute, I just need a minute."

"Right," Tom's low rasp buzzed against his neck. He gave Bill's ass a final squeeze before releasing him. "Meet me in the bedroom?"

"I won't take long!" Bill promised, excited, touching Tom's face and pulling away with reluctance. He was determined to clean himself, though, if Tom was going _there_.

They kissed again, though; and again, and one more time before good measure, Tom's hand cupping Bill's face into the kiss before they were able to pull apart successfully. Even so, Bill kept stealing glances over his shoulder and grinned as Tom watched him as he followed the lure of Bill toward the bedroom with its adjoining bath, banging into one side of the door frame before adjusting his course.

Bill quickened his step, hurrying off to the bathroom.

The bathroom had all manner of luxurious fixtures; a soaking pool, a sauna, a stand-up shower large enough for more than two, and stacks of fluffy towels and washcloths. There were bath crystals, gels that foamed or fizzed, stacks of colorful soaps, and vials of oil - the benefits of which Bill had enjoyed already.

There was also a bidet in the same closet - if a room large enough to be a bedroom for anyone else could be called thus - as the toilet. That was where Bill headed now. After consideration, he gave himself a thorough wipe-down with a wash towel and returned to the bidet once more.

The bathroom adjoined the bedroom and Bill paused on the threshold, breath stoppered in his throat for an aching instant as he beheld everything he wanted, sprawled in rangy naked glory across the turned-down splash of crimson on the bed.

"Tom," Bill croaked, and remained riveted, open-mouthed, struck by how much he wanted him. How lucky he was to have this much.

"Come here," Tom coaxed, gathering his legs beneath him, giving Bill a good view of the proud sex jutting from dark blond hair. He stretched a hand out.

Bill hurried over, almost tripping in his haste. The needy swell of sensation built in his chest until he wanted to give voice to it, make sure Tom knew the growing intensity of what he felt. "I...Tom, I..." he began shyly, on the verge of climbing into the great four-postered bed.

"Closer," Tom whispered, twitching his fingers in a come-hither gesture.

"I want you so much," Bill blurted, altering the words somewhat but the tone was no less fervent.

The way Tom's face brightened was a match for the giddy swirl of happiness in Bill's belly.

"Me too," Tom said, and patted the bed. "Let me show you how much?"

Bill nodded, face on fire as he climbed into bed and crawled beside Tom, unsure where his lover wanted him. Tom pulled him into his arms for more kisses, working at his mouth with lips and tongue and stroking his hand along Bill's neck, his shoulder, down his chest until Bill was entirely pliant against him.

"Turn around?" Tom said against his mouth.

"Okay," Bill said uncertainly. He began to shift away from Tom.

"Hey," Tom said, taking Bill's face in his hands. He spread soft kisses from his mouth down his chin, pressing a chaste kiss to Bill's mole. "Hey, I want you to enjoy it, okay? It should feel good. If you don't like it, we'll stop."

Bill smiled over at Tom as his heart contracted in the throes of what he wouldn't let himself say, not yet. "Thank you," he said instead, nuzzling their noses together in the semblance of a kiss.

“I don't ever want you to feel as though you have to do something because I want it,” Tom told him earnestly, planting another kiss beside Bill's mouth. “If you say stop, I will. And if you want more...” He licked his lips and gave Bill a mischievous grin.

Bill couldn't help but echo it. “Well, then,” he said, the nervous flutters quieting at Tom's reassurance, as well as his gorgeous smile. He twisted around, lying on his stomach and folding his arms beneath his chest.

“Get up on your knees,” Tom urged him, caressing a hand down Bill's spine. “Yes...you can sit back...yes, like that.” Tom rewarded him with a kiss to Bill's waist, mapping a path with his mouth to the center line of his back. He placed slow, sucking kisses with a hint of tongue to each bump of Bill's spine, culminating in an open-mouthed lavishing of attention to the dip above Bill's cleft.

Bill panted, his breath roughening as Tom descended lower and lower. Tom had a good grip on his hips as his mouth trailed down Bill's back. Already, the wetness he was spreading with his full mouth and agile tongue was so good, making Bill wriggle against the cool slipperiness of the sheets below him. He tried to arch but Tom had him, holding onto his hips.

Tom's tongue swirled down into Bill's crease, moving from the divot at his sacrum to lick down between Bill's discreetly parted cheeks.

“Oh,” Bill moaned, shocked at how good that felt.

Tom issued a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a grunt, nosing his way thoroughly between Bill's cheeks and lapping down into him.

Bill cried out louder, spreading his legs to allow Tom more access. “Tom, ohh,” the sounds left him as breathy moans.

Tom made another noise, the vibration of his sound traveling through Bill like a hum and making him angle his hips, opening himself to Tom and pressing back at the same time.

“Mmm,” Tom responded, licking and kissing at the flesh back there, his lips rubbing over wet flesh as he plied his tongue everywhere.

“Tom, oh gods,” Bill half sobbed, trying to thrust against the bedclothes. He braced himself on one arm and reached between his legs.

A strong hand caught at his wrist.

“Mm-mm,” Tom denied, moving his face against Bill's spread-open ass in a small headshake. His lip ring rubbed against sensitive skin as he did. His mouth closed over Bill's entrance, kissing it.

“Ahh...mmm,” Bill keened, biting down on his own lip as Tom kissed him down there.

"You like it?" Tom husked, breathing hotly against Bill's wet crack. He kissed the base of Bill's spine again and rested his chin there, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, oh gods, so much," Bill replied, tilting his hips again in an effort to secure some kind of friction for his aching dick. "It's so good, it's...ahh...it's too much."

"Too much?" Tom questioned, and delved back into Bill's cleft with his tongue and eager, sucking mouth. He licked down to Bill's entrance and dwelled there, swirling and pressing his tongue. He reached up a hand and opened one of Bill's rear cheeks wider, licking and nibbling against his hole.

"Tom!" Bill cried out, arching again. His balls were tight, the pressure of incipient orgasm rising fast. He couldn't take much more and tried to warn exactly that. "Tom, I...ohh..."

A warm squirm of sensation licked heat and breath _inside_ him and Bill collapsed on shaking arms. All he could do was moan and squeak as the pleasure rose up and crashed over him. His hips twitched as he jetted his climax against the crimson sheets. His throat worked. At last he was able to produce a weak, "Tomi..."

Tom pulled back after a final lick. "Did you...ohh, I wanted to see your face."

He sounded disappointed but Bill was so flush with the languor following orgasm he couldn't even summon up an apology. "Get on me," he urged.

"Are you sure?" Tom questioned. One hand was still caressing Bill's rear.

Bill wriggled, grinning against his folded arms, knowing he was basically presenting himself to Tom. "I'm sure I want you to cover me," he said, moaning a little when Tom rubbed a finger into his cleft, lingering on his hole. "Oh, ahh, you'd feel so good on me." He was sure he'd get hard again, but even better, he knew Tom would enjoy it and that was as much a pleasure to him as anything else.

"All right." Tom kissed the curve of one buttock and moved off to one side for a moment. He returned to press oiled fingers to Bill's cleft.

Unused to prep without Tom's kisses, Bill squirmed and bit at his pillow and groaned as he opened around Tom's gentle but insistent fingers. He twitched as Tom rubbed against that place within him that lit the world on fire. He wasn't surprised to find himself hardening already as Tom withdrew his fingers and replaced it with an oil-anointed cock, the tip resting against Bill's entrance.

Bill twisted, pushing up onto his arms, lifting onto his knees to ready himself for Tom to enter his body. He emitted a needy sound as Tom simply kept pressing the tip of himself there, holding his hardness poised at Bill's entrance.

"Tom, Tomi," Bill entreated, writhing in place.

Tom's breathing was loud enough for Bill to hear it, practically feel it as he rubbed his dick back and forth in the cleft of Bill's ass. The oil made for easy friction as he pressed against Bill, his shaft slipping back and forth in a move that felt good, but wasn't nearly enough. He set the head of his cock against Bill's hole again and moved around there, swiping at the entrance but not putting it in.

"Do you want it?" Tom panted.

"I want it, I want it so much," Bill replied, arching his back and pushing against Tom.

"What do you want?" Tom demanded, dragging the head of his cock against Bill's hole again.

"Your cock," Bill said in a low moan. He rotated back, trying to push it in.

"Where do you want it?" Tom rasped, teasing the tip against the rim of Bill's entrance.

"In me, ahhh, please, in me," Bill begged. "In my ass, Tomi, want your cock in my ass so much."

Tom pushed it in, easing past the first resistance and mounting in a smoothly controlled slide until they were pressed together, balls to butt.

Bill cried out and shook. "More," he demanded, propping himself on wobbly arms but managing to thrust himself back against Tom. It was a little painful but beautiful, so wonderful to really feel him in there, that all he could do was push back and take the choppy surging rhythm Tom gave him.

“Good?” Tom demanded in between panting breaths.

Bill nodded, licked his lips, and remembered to moan out a vague affirmative as he leaned hard on his arms. He was beginning to sweat as he braced himself against the motion of Tom's hips pushing him forward. He bit his lip, totally focused on Tom's cock going in and out, making him groan and want to reach between his own legs, but he was too busy meeting Tom's ragged, needy strokes. Tom was grabbing his hips, dragging his cock out of Bill with a low moan, pausing, and pushing back in until he was fully seated. He'd hold himself there for an instant, barely pulsing, making Bill whimper beneath him for more, until he pulled out and slapped their bodies together in a series of bone-jolting thrusts.

Crying out again and again, Bill drove back to meet Tom's urgent thrusts. They were wordless now but Bill knew they were still communicating; with the back and forth of their intermingled breaths, the way Tom gripped at his hips, his touch simultaneously branding and delivering the impression of a caress, and each heartbeat that passed between them, each kiss of Tom's pelvis to Bill's backside.

It was good, and the angle of Tom's steady thrusting into him was making Bill cry out and clench onto the welcome invasiveness of Tom's cock, but he wanted more.

“Turn me around,” Bill panted out as Tom continued to give him the pendulum-steady thrusting that told Bill he hadn't lost control yet. “Tomi, turn me around, okay? I need it.”

It took several more revolutions of Tom's hips and a repetition of Bill's request before Tom appeared to retain enough reason to grasp it. Tom stilled, buried fully within Bill and stroking over his lower back.

“Bill,” he moaned, and rolled his hips, pushing into Bill so deep that Bill's toes curled.

“Ohh,” Bill responded on a drawn-out note, and tried to change his angle, get friction for his aching cock against the bedspread, but Tom had a hold of his hips and he was strong. “Turn me around?”

Tom paused, apparently considering it, and released Bill's hips abruptly. He pulled his cock out.

Bill trembled at the wildly erotic sensation of Tom's cock leaving him in a fast glide. He had to bite his lips not to ask for it back right away and, when he was sure Tom had really taken it out and wasn't going to put it back in immediately, he turned around, swarming onto Tom's thighs. He hooked an arm around Tom's neck as he spilled his lover back onto the bedclothes and joined their mouths.

“So good, it's so good, but I want this more,” Bill told him, pressing avid kisses to Tom's lips, to the mole high on one cheek, and reaching back to guide Tom's erection back to where they both wanted it. He impaled himself and, with a little wince, bore down until he was fully seated. “Ohh.”

“You're so beautiful,” Tom told him, stroking his cheek, his eyes hazed as he watched Bill tense his thighs and rise up and down.

“Oh gods,” Bill squeaked, finding that this angle, too, was good for Tom's cock to brush over Bill's spot with nearly every movement. He switched his restless hips back and forth, finding the angle that pleased him the most before loosing an unrestrained moan and rolling, grinding down on the hard cock within him. “Tomi, Tomi!”

Tom's hands went to his thighs and stroked them as Bill tossed his head, riding faster and harder.

Tom's gorgeous brown eyes were steady on him, the very tip of his tongue poking over his bottom lip as he watched Bill ride.

And ride, and ride. The first climax had taken the edge off, so Bill moved on Tom's rigid cock for what seemed like ages, shuddering and going slower when it seemed the shining peak of climax drew too close, dropping himself to Tom's chest and enjoying the way Tom wrapped him up in strong arms and steamy kisses until Bill was utterly safe and cherished. He barely moved, then, easing Tom's cock within him as he flexed his hips and pressed his ass back onto Tom in teasing pulses.

"Move," Tom growled then, reaching to grip his arms to encourage Bill to faster motion.

"Mm," Bill responded, nibbling at Tom's lip before sitting up properly athwart Tom's thighs. He wanted it to go on and on, the connection, Tom hot inside him, their eyes and hands and lips joining, but he really was starting to ache in a way that warned him if it went on much longer, all the good would be slowly replaced with pain. He sat back and found it, the place where Tom's cock drove right against his spot.

"Bill...come on, Bill," Tom coaxed, stroking his thighs again.

Bill worked his hips in short, thrilling circles, panting as he itched that spot again and again with Tom's cock. "I...ohh..." the words he sought seemed to evaporate from his lips as he thought them as his release spilled out, flowing out over his straining cock and dripping onto Tom's stomach in what seemed to be a never-ending wave. All through it, Tom's dark eyes were riveted on his, anchoring him to his body.

Tom surged up and tossed Bill onto his back on the sheets. His dark eyes were wide, frantic, and he held Bill down as he breached his body again. With a few snaps of his hips he was moaning, sinking into Bill and clinging to him with both hands as he spent himself in Bill's embrace.

Panting, he stayed there for long moments. Bill stroked up against Tom's sweaty, glowing face and smiled, satisfied by the look of utter peace that had taken hold.

"That was so good," Bill said, first to break the silence as Tom pulled carefully from his body and lay beside him.

"You're amazing," Tom told him, his whole face lighting with a boyish smile.

Bill grinned right back, crowding against Tom as thin but strong arms gathered their bodies together. "Tomi," he murmured, and their foreheads bumped. "You make me happy. Everything you do."

Tom's happy expression held for a long moment before fading around the edges. "Bill..." he began, and trailed off. He shook his head, dreadlocks tickling Bill's cheek.

"Tell me what's wrong," Bill begged, tracing over Tom's side to rub his fingers at Tom's bare, sweaty waist.

Tom sighed, his dark eyes flickering. "You know I'm having trouble freeing up the money to pay off your purchase," he began.

Bill caught his breath, a stab of anxiety returning. "Yes," he said, only somewhat soothed by Tom's hands skimming back and forth over his arm, his side. He wanted to ask what would happen next but didn't dare. He wanted to live here in this moment with Tom.

"Well...the reason I suspect my father may have done it..." Tom paused and his jaw hardened, nostrils flaring a second. He seemed to look past Bill for an instant before ducking his head and catching Bill's eyes once more. "It's so strange."

Bill tucked his chin to bring his face to Tom's level. "Tell me?" he invited, and a bemused little grin took hold of his mouth. "Not like I've anyone to tell, right?" In the insular world of Interscope's golden spire, so far it was as though they'd been the only two people in existence. Once he and Tom went to his family estate, there would be the commodities' wing, and the courtesans' quarters... Bill contemplated it all with unease, knowing he'd make friends, probably, but he'd miss the closeness of being with Tom all the time.

Tom stroked his hand up Bill's shoulder and cupped the side of his face, looking deeply into his eyes. "Would you..." he began, and wet his lips with his tongue, appearing anxious. "Bill, would you mind terribly if it turned out that we're brothers?"

Bill stared at him, his whole body seeming to lurch without moving while his face grew hot. He had no idea his eyes were welling up until a tear spilled over and Tom reached to wipe it from his cheek.

"Oh no," Tom said, hitching closer, brushing tears away one-handed. "No, no...don't...oh, Bill..."

"Tomi," Bill choked out, and managed a smile for Tom, grasping at Tom's hand and holding it to his cheek. He was speechless, absorbing the shock and the implications. Silent tears continued to spill forth and Tom kept trying to brush them away, still cupping his face.

"Say something," Tom begged. "Are you upset? Angry? Do you...I mean, if you don't want to be with me--"

"I love you," Bill whispered, amidst another trickle of hot tears. "No one can take this from me. I've always wanted...I'm yours, Tom. This is a bond no one can break."

Tom's eyes were over-bright, too, and he pressed their chests together, cradling Bill against him. "Me too," he said hoarsely. "I love you, too. No matter what."

Bill sniffled experimentally but the tears were gone, leaving only tracks on their skin and a boundless joy as they held one another. He had a brother, as much as they could both be sure for now. At last he might have one thing that could never be taken, never bought or sold.


	12. Dinner Date

As tempting as it would be to keep to the suite and remain in bed and other places with Bill, Tom was drawn forth by the lure of food and the obligation that his agreement with Interscope exerted upon him. He was duty-bound to be seen in public with Bill. He threw on a loose outfit in his style that he'd purchased at the multi-complex earlier that day and waited until Bill emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of scented steam.

"Bountiful gods," Tom breathed, open-mouthed and stricken with love all over again. He was beholding the most gorgeous sight upon which he'd ever laid eyes.

Bill was dressed in a close-fitting tunic that hugged his spare frame. The top was patterned to mimic splayed peacock feathers wrapping around his slender torso. It left his navel bare and a pair of low-riding black pants hugged his tiny hips. A glittering chain suspended with several iridescent peacock blue beads circled the band of pale skin left bare. His dark hair was caught up in combs of nacreous shell from which a pair of peacock feathers criss-crossed at his slim, exposed nape.

"You're beautiful," Tom told him, and felt unlettered and inadequate at once. He didn't possess a sufficient grasp on words to do Bill justice.

Bill's face lit up anyhow, as though he'd been paid the most gracious compliment, and he glided toward Tom, taking his hands. "So it pleases you? I was worried it was a little..." The swoop of a hand implied excess as he trailed off, squeezing Tom's hand with his other.

"I told you, dress to suit your taste, and don't worry about anything else," Tom said firmly. He lifted a hand to cup Bill's cheek. He'd reapplied his makeup, dramatic as ever with dark rings around the eyes that began outlined in black and shaded to a subtle shimmer to match the blue of his top. "If this is the result, I'll always have the finest man in the Noble Republic by my side."

Bill bit his lip, but his eyes danced pleasure at the compliment. "As milord says."

"And if you've forgotten my name, I'll--" Tom growled, at a loss for suitable punishment. A hold on sex would punish him as well, and he'd never do anything to harm Bill or otherwise betray his trust.

"Tom," Bill said at once, his face lighting up with the sweetness of his incredible smile.

Tom could only regard him dumbstruck for a moment, forgetting every other consideration; dinner, payment to Interscope, potential familial relationship. All was lost in the beauty of Bill's gaze.

"Shall we...?" Bill inquired, taking hold of Tom's arm in a more socially suitable fashion. "We should be on our way." Bill managed to look charmingly inquisitive.

Tom leaned in, caressing a peacock feather at Bill's nape and enjoying the shiver he elicited. "Unless you'd like me to take you right back to bed, we should be on our way."

Bill looked at him and his eyes darkened. His lips parted and his tongue swiped slowly across. "Oh..." His voice was an eager quaver. "But, the dinner reservations..."

"Are the only thing saving you from being ravished on the spot," Tom decided. He fell into step with Bill and they left the suite. It would be inconsiderate of him to pursue physical gratification with Bill to the exclusion of their other bodily needs.

Once again, Padma awaited to guide them around the workings of the golden spire. She took them down the lift, across a floor past a stunning view that spanned an entire wall of the building, and over a glittering web of arched bridge overlooking an arboretum to another lift. This one was glass-walled, and Bill clutched at Tom's arm as it sped upward, unlike the creaking clockwork pace of other lifts they had ridden thus far. The view from the lift spread out the shining city before them, shadow-wrapped in shades of darkening gold and dusk-tarnished silver. Gem-bright pinpoints of light twinkled like clear stars from many distant places.

"Where is House Kaulitz?" Bill wanted to know.

Tom placed a hand to his waist. "On an estate not far from Berlin," he replied. "We have quarters in the city, rarely used..." He wondered if he could take Bill there, instead of the estate, when their time at Interscope ended. An advantage was the smaller number of servants and he and Bill could truly live as lovers. There would be no putting up with the seeming of propriety, of situating Bill in quarters of his own when Tom only ever intended for Bill to share _his_ bed, and no other. He gazed at Bill's profile as the beautiful boy regarded the dusk unfurling over the city below. It hadn't occurred to him that Bill might want his own space; might prefer it to constantly being with Tom. He touched one peacock pattern-sheathed arm and secured Bill's attention.

"When we're settled," Tom said, and wet his lips in a quick, nervous gesture. "You and I...well, you know it's traditional to have your own quarters in the courtesan's wing of the house..." He trailed off, captivated by the inquisitive arch of Bill's shaded-black brows.

"Yes," Bill replied, and twitched his pert nose. He looked down at his feet.

"I know it's terribly irregular," Tom began. He shifted from foot to foot; rubbed at the nape of his neck; circled one fine-boned wrist with his fingers. "I don't want you anywhere but by my side."

Bill looked at him with incomprehension. "As much as I can be," he agreed.

"No, I...I mean, I always want you beside me," Tom said, scratching beneath the heavy pile of dreads at his nape. "Sleeping. Waking. Sharing quarters, but...I would know your feelings before trying to make arrangements."

Bill's dark eyes widened. "Share quarters?"

"Not if you want your own," Tom hastened to say. "I know it will appear...strange to everyone else, possibly cause gossip. Other courtesans might say things about you, us..." In Tom's world, even married couples had separate quarters, if only they were adjoining suites.

"They'd call us middle class," Bill stated. "Because only untitled freemen can't afford to put up their lovers or commodities in separate quarters."

"Yes," Tom acknowledged, releasing Bill's wrist. That would be the main difficulty to overcome when fighting with Jorg. Not only would he bring his forbidden courtesan home, but he'd have the gall to deliberately keep from quartering him separately.

"I don't care about that," Bill said fiercely, tangling his fingers with Tom's again. "So long as you don't. As long as I can be with you."

They shared a smile as the lift reached its apex.

"Gentlemen," Padma murmured. She gave them a sweetly-curving smile over her shoulder. "May I present to you, the Gilded Oxhorn." She exited the lift and gestured. Facing a kind of glass cupola that offered more city view, the front of the restaurant was an archway onto the bar, a golden tiled area with row upon row of pristine bottles in all tones of amber and carnelian and pearly white, opaque green and obsidian black. Off to one side beyond a line of mostly occupied stools was a tall black host's stand shaped like an oxhorn, its tapering pointed end affixed to the floor.

"Thank you, Padma," Tom told the concierge as she bowed her head and withdrew.

Tom was very much aware of Bill on his arm as he approached the host's station. A line of heads swiveled and men and women, a few his age, most older, were leveling appraising gazes his way. He was very much aware that he himself was not the center of their focus. Everyone's eyes were on Bill, and Bill held his head high, looking demurely forward or at Tom.

"Noble Lord Kaulitz," the hostess said, before Tom had even come to a stop by the host's stand with Bill on his arm. She wore a black uniform, crisp shirt and slim skirt, and her blond hair was upswept.

"Yes," Tom acknowledged.

“Would you care to take your ease at the bar, or the gentlemen's lounge, before going to your table for the evening?”

Tom stood for a moment, very much aware of Bill's arm in his as he tried not to chew his lip and appear as though he were stalling. He knew that he _should_ take up the hostess on the offer. He should circulate and be seen, make potential business allies and connections, get reactions from other Noble Houses to see whether they were purely admiring or whether there was some hint of scandal, indicating that word was circulating on any of Jorg's covert actions. His instincts were to hole up with Bill, to have them shown to a table at once and keep Bill entirely to himself.

It was selfish, and counter-productive. The best way to protect Bill would be for Tom to keep up his role in society, and find out any information that could be of potential later use. Not to mention, Interscope wanted the happy couple not only seen, but circulating.

“The lounge, if you would,” Tom replied, crooking a reflexive glance at Bill to ensure his lover was comfortable with the notion. If Tom was seated at the bar, Bill would be expected to stand beside him like some statue. In the lounge, they could both recline.

A faint smile graced Bill's lips in response, and his thumb stroked unseen against Tom's arm beneath a fold of loose sleeve.

“Right this way,” the hostess said with a curt nod. Her heels were tall and shiny as a black beetle's carapace as she led them down a path that curved beyond the semi-circle of the bar. Lined in gilt, the warm amber-gold hue of the hardwood floor beneath them was buffed and polished to a glow. Past the bar, an area demarcated by lacquered black paneling and inset stained glass was set apart from both restaurant area and bar. The hostess led them to a pair of double doors, opening one and gesturing.

“Wherever you like, milord,” the hostess informed him, and held the door until they were both through. She closed it behind them, giving Tom the sense of being caged in.

The gentlemen's lounge was styled after an old-fashioned tavern, all dark stained wood and low lighting from overhead fixtures and table sconces. It was half-filled with men taking their ease at various tables, gorgeously styled women or younger men at their sides or kneeling beside them in a subservient manner that made Tom grimace. He had to smooth the expression away as heads turned at their approach. He knew at a glance that the kneeling figures were courtesans, and the notion of making Bill do the same was repulsive.

Tom scanned over those he recognized and the ones he didn't – the first group being a short list. He'd only begun to make his introduction to society, and most of that at his father's side at stuffy, old-fashioned banquets that had little to recommend them or capture his attention. It was entirely possible Bill, with his specialized training, knew more about the men in the room than Tom did. Nearly all those in the room were regarding him with curiosity or frank appraisal.

“Quite a catch,” the nearest man, a member of Noble House Meier, told Tom. “I might have tried myself if I had a taste for the red.”

“Thank you,” Tom said, doing his best not to sound sarcastic. The thought of Bill as a fish presented itself in his mind's eye for a moment before being replaced by the vision of a netted peacock. He tightened his arm to bring Bill closer to his body.

“Your first?” Meier wondered aloud. “You're both so young, it's unusual to see a lord your age with an unblooded thing like that.”

Before Tom could answer or even curl his lip, a man at the table beside him spoke up. He wore House Stern's insignia. “He's surely been blooded by now!” the man, thin and neatly bearded, said with a hearty laugh. “At least, if I'd taken such a prize to my bed I'd waste no time.”

Tom's ears were starting to burn, and not from embarrassment. He knew how he'd respond to such crass statements if he were with his peers and friends, but these were older men, the type who did business with his father. He had to tread lightly, and yet he knew he couldn't remain silent. “That's a private affair,” Tom said at last, gazing with more than a touch of yearning toward an unoccupied table where he wished he could steer Bill right that moment.

“What made you decide to bid so high?” yet another joined the conversational fray.

Tom regarded him with unstudied surprise. “He's worth it,” he said simply. The addition of _no price would have been too high_ hovered on his lips, but he kept that back.

“Speaks the young and besotted,” sighed the richly-attired woman beside the House Meier man.

Tom bared his teeth at the general assembly and hoped they'd take it for a smile. "Interscope has been very generous to me," he began.

House Stern snorted. "For that final bid amount I should think they can afford to be."

Tom clenched his jaw and tried to smile again, or at least, not respond with a black scowl. He looked to Bill, who was caressing down his arm in a discreet gesture that soothed his impatience.

“And what are his skills?” the third man wanted to know. He was half-craned around in his seat and wore the insignia of House Kruger. His expression was a veneer of boredom over something more avid, unsettling Tom.

“I suppose that's for me to know,” Tom said, his attempts not to be curt drawing to a close. He guided Bill to a secluded table off to one side. At least he was assured that no one would attempt to lay hands on Bill; it wasn't that kind of lounge, or party. He drew Bill down against his body rather than letting him take a subservient position at Tom's feet, and ignored all the indulgent glances and scoffing noises that issued from the assembled gentry.

 _He's young,_ those unsubtle looks and noises told him. _Young and notional._

“Would you like a drink?” Bill murmured, leaning into Tom to whisper by his ear. He nodded to the open bar at the far side of the room.

Tom nodded. “A bottle of beer and two glasses?” he responded, framing it as a request.

Bill smiled at him and brushed his lips over Tom's earlobe. “Be right back.”

Tom nodded, sighed, and tried out several postures in the stiff-backed wooden booth. There was a chair opposite him at the table, but he didn't want his back to anyone in the room. He pondered the mess he'd made of his first social foray since Bill. He couldn't recall anyone putting such direct questions to his father on any commodities or courtesans Jorg had ever purchased, so Tom was unsure how to respond.

If all had gone as it should have, Jorg would have still been at Interscope. He'd be with Tom in the gentlemen's lounge, guiding him through these tricky sorties. Instead, Tom was here with only Bill by his side, fumbling for the words to explain to their society that he'd put down money for something precious to him, something which should have no price.

He watched Bill's ass sway in those tight trousers and tongued idly at his lip ring, already anticipating returning to their suite though he knew it would likely be hours. Beyond putting in an appearance at the restaurant, spending some time and money at the gaming tables was expected. He wondered if the management at Interscope really thought that others would think they could partake of the Kaulitz luck, winning what was surely the highest-priced chaste lot of Tom's generation and dicing the evenings away, simply by catching sight of him or speaking with him on the gaming floors.

The lounge door cracked open and a tall figure entered; a man garbed in muted grays and reds. Without a posse of hangers on about him, Tom almost didn't recognize Grand Master Bushido of House Ferchichi. It was an assumed name, of course; the man was a performer.

Bushido glanced round the lounge and his eyes fixed on Bill.

Tom found himself clenching his fist on the table, and willed himself to relax. He was going to have to get used to this; to people looking at Bill, coveting him. As he was going through the attempt at a calming mantra, Bushido looked away from Bill, searching through the lounge until his eyes encountered Tom.

Their eyes locked. Bushido's expression was calm, appraising. He began to walk toward Tom's table with measured strides.

“May I sit?” the Grand Master murmured, towering above Tom with his arms folded, hands tucked into the loose ends of his dull red sleeves.

Tom's brows rose. Great; another person with impertinent, possibly lascivious questions about Bill's 'talents.' “If you like,” he replied, giving the man an answer that wasn't an outright yes because he didn't feel as though he could give a 'no.'

Bushido hitched the single chair back from the table and seated himself across from Tom, legs splayed wide in his loose, low-hanging trousers, arms still folded. His head turned and he gazed openly at Bill again. “He's very beautiful.”

 _He's mine_ , Tom wanted to snarl possessively. “Yes, he is,” Tom replied, turning his own head to check on Bill's progress. He was headed back for the table with quick, graceful strides, balancing two glass beer mugs in one hand and a giant, brown blown bottle in the other. He smiled at Tom as their gazes met; a sideways flick of his eyes acknowledged Bushido and the light dimmed. Tom continued, “I'm very lucky.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bushido said, sounding amused.

Tom locked eyes with the older man again, frowning.

“You put in a crazy-high amount,” Bushido continued. “What did you do, dial in the amount of your trust fund?”

“I don't have a trust fund,” Tom replied, evasive. “I can afford him.”

“Can you, now,” Bushido said, his face avid with interest. He leaned forward and propped a muscled forearm on the table.

Bill tread lightly around Bushido with a graceful hip-swivel and stood beside the table, placing a mug before Tom and tendering a silent inquiry with his huge, dark eyes.

Tom struggled a moment with the dictates of propriety – he'd invited the man to sit at his table, however reluctantly – versus the answer his instincts were urging him to deliver. At last he gave a brief nod. “If Bushido would like a beer, he can have the glass.”

“Sure, we can start with a beer,” Bushido replied, the insult of Tom's omission of his title glancing right off his impervious toothy white smile.

As soon as they'd watched Bill pour the beer, avoiding any spillage with a deft twist of his wrist, Tom pulled Bill down onto the bench seat with him, more on top of him than beside him this time. Bill made a noise that sounded pleased and nuzzled into his neck.

“I'll get straight to the point,” Bushido said, after sucking down a few mouthfuls of beer past the foam and licking traces off his full mouth. “I hear you're having some trouble holding on to what you got.” His dark eyes speared Tom like a blade.

Tom stared back for a long moment, struggling to keep his face expressionless as his heart thudded a sickly staccato against his ribcage. “ _You_ bid for Bill,” he said, making the connection. It didn't matter how Bushido had found out; some colluding associate of Jorg's, if not from the man himself. Now Bushido was here to offer to buy Bill out because for whatever twisted reason, Jorg wanted to keep Bill from him.

Tom looked over at the boy in question, who bit his lip and gave him guileless eyes that betrayed fear only in the margin of white that ringed his irises. He trusted Tom, that look promised. Tom couldn't understand his father's reaction. At most, he'd pay a hefty fine for selling his progeny, people would gossip about Tom buying and keeping his own half-brother for a few cycles, and society would go on. He'd never be able to manumit Bill because that might have the potential to confuse the line of succession if Bill was older and some enemy of Jorg's decided to make it an issue, but that would be all.

“I was top bid before your win,” Bushido confirmed.

“I won,” Tom asserted, seeing the need to get that clear. “And now...”

“And now Interscope's got you in debt, and you may not be able to pay them off,” Bushido continued. “Hell of a way to start out adulthood, kid.”

“I'm _not_ a kid,” Tom snapped. “And I do have assets; I'm going to--”

Bushido chuckled and sipped at his beer again. “Unfreeze them? When your head of House has got the lock on them? I don't think so, _milord._ ” The honorific was used with heavy sarcasm, though Bushido's dark eyes didn't appear to harbor any ill will.

Tom leaned back and tightened his arm around Bill. He knew what Bushido was getting at, of course. Rather than drag his own name through the mud by being unable to pay off Interscope, Bushido – the runner-up bid – had been tipped off to come and make an offer. Bill would be sold, Tom would get his debts paid off, and Jorg got what he wanted.

“I'll pay you what I would have laid down with that last bid,” Bushido said, keeping his keen gaze on Tom. “You'd still have to make up the difference to pay Interscope, of course. But I'm sure by that point your assets...you might find 'em to be more liquid.”

“You must want Bill real bad,” Tom observed. He squeezed his hand in apology on Bill's knee as he continued, “To pay that kind of price when he _was_ a chaste lot.” He wondered what kind of story Jorg had made up for Bushido. Headstrong son went over the household budget, no doubt.

Bushido transferred his eyes to Bill, traveling from his face on down the visible parts of his body. “I don't care if the apple's had a taste as long as I get to take it home...unblemished.”

Tom glared at the man. He looked to Bill in time to catch Bill's head jerking up, to see him leveling the same kind of withering glare on the Grand Master before lowering his chin and tucking himself against Tom's shoulder.

“Not interested,” Tom said flatly. He hesitated before adding, “And Bill's choice in the matter is a major consideration, to me.”

Bushido laughed. “One of those,” he said. He lifted his glass and began to gulp his beer, slamming down the amber brew until only flecks of foam remained on the insides of the mug. He set his mug back down with a glassy clank. “All right, take some time to think on it; I'll come calling again soon. By the end of the week, sounds like."

Tom glared up at him in helpless fury as the man rose. “Don't bother,” he said tautly.

“Oh, I'll be back,” Bushido said matter of factly. “Better hope the offer's still open for you, rather than me going right to Interscope.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Tom warned.

Bushido stood over them once more, appearing hugely amused as he folded his arms into his sleeves again. “Only good business. Thanks for the drink.”

He withdrew, and Tom kept his eyes on the man until he was gone.

Bill huddled up against his shoulder. “I don't want to go with him,” he murmured against Tom's ear, brushing up against the outer shell of it and making them both shiver. “I don't want anyone but you.”

“You won't,” Tom soothed, petting a reassuring hand down Bill's side. “Let's go to dinner, all right? Let's have dinner, a nice night, put in an appearance at the gaming tables, have some sex...”

“Have a lot of sex,” Bill corrected, nuzzling in against Tom's neck again with warm, gloss-pliable lips.

“Lots of sex,” Tom allowed, disentangling from Bill only long enough to stand. He gathered the beautiful boy against his side again as they left the lounge, immune now to any stares or noises of disdain with his mind occupied over a greater issue.

Jorg was making a serious effort to get Tom to relinquish his claim on Bill. The latest bully tactics of his father weren't going to succeed, though; he wouldn't allow it.

Still, the uncertainty tore at him like knives.


	13. Gambling Connections

“You lucky bastard,” Georg said, not even bothering to say it under his breath as he tipped his beer mug in a jovial toast.

Tom grinned and settled his arm around Bill, tipping them deeper into the plush upholstery of the bar booth. "Luck is only a part of the whole story," he averred. "Though I thank Parvati daily for bringing our meeting about. I was determined to win him...to get my Bill, to have you by my side." He finished up speaking to the lovely boy in question, whose cheeks were flushed with beer and high spirits.

"Several hundred thousand _lir_ 's worth of determination, apparently," Georg observed. "Can you even...I wouldn't have thought you could afford that."

"Blunt as ever, thanks," Tom said with a laugh. He glanced at Bill, gnawing at his own lip for an instant before confessing, "it will take everything I have; my father has declared he's not providing any financial help..."

"What's going on with that?" Georg asked curiously. He set his glass mug down and wiped at his mouth with the crumpled white linen beside his plate. "I would have thought he'd be beyond thrilled to foot the bill for your first courtesan."

Tom couldn't keep his eyes off Bill, who was giving him a sweet, teasing little smile. They had shaken off the ominous visit and proceeded to have a fabulous night after a sumptuous dinner at the Gilded Oxhorn. Bill had been his good luck charm at the tables as Tom had won several rounds that had covered dinner, at least, and some of the other expenses that would add up over the course of their week at Interscope's luxurious golden spire. A whisper of the promise of a personal massage in his ear had been enough to lure Tom away from the gaming tables and back to their suite, where Bill's skillful hands had kept him suspended in a blissful state between arousal and utter relaxation.

Mindful of Bill's recently-chaste state, they had enjoyed other, non-penetrative pleasures together before falling entwined into a happily sated sleep. Tom enjoyed lavishing kiss and touch on every part of Bill's skin; his mouth, his pert dark little nipples, his lovely cock, and the finest rear Tom had ever laid hands on.

So of course they'd done it all over again upon waking.

While Bill had gone through his meticulous grooming rituals that morning, Tom had checked his mobile unit in preparation to go through another grueling day. He'd sent a message to his father, hoping for reconciliation that didn't seem to be on the horizon. He'd put an inquiry to the family accountant, who wasn't returning his call. He'd even tried the House Kaulitz lawyer, who was supposed to be contractually bound to non-involvement, but the man wasn't getting in touch with Tom – and perhaps that was his own way of staying neutral.

Before he could manage anything by way of booking appointments or getting a referral to some reputable financial lawyer, a call from Georg had come through. His friend was back in town, wanting to know whether the rumors were true, and so Tom had invited him to Interscope to join he and Bill for lunch.

Now...

"He did promise to buy Bill for me, at first," Tom said, leaning close enough to nuzzle Bill's nose.

Bill scrunched up the delightful appendage, his eyes crinkling with laughter as Tom tested the limits of public affection.

"Ugh, stop getting all kissy-face in front of me," Georg entreated, lobbing a piece of dark rye bread in their direction.

It lodged in Tom's dreadlocks and Bill plucked it free.

"You two have been acting like lovers," Georg continued, good-natured.

"That bother you?" Tom questioned, raising a brow. He'd kept his arm around Bill as often as possible since they had seated themselves, and he'd introduced Bill to his friend as a person, not like a piece of property. Georg hadn't done so much as roll his eyes at Tom's "peculiarities."

"Doesn't matter to me," Georg replied. "I think it's amazing, really. I've never seen you like this before, Tom."

"Never been with someone like Bill before," Tom rejoined, turning that bare fraction that brought him into sight of Bill's warm brown eyes and flushed cheeks again.

"Well, maybe that's it right there," Georg said.

"Huh?" Tom blinked at his friend, beer mug half raised to his lips. They were all drinking a dark lager on top of a thick, delicious stew that the bar offered up, and had been bolting down the fragrant, crusty bread that the server kept refilling into their basket. It was simple fare, but bars were allowed lower standards than the upscale restaurants.

"Your father," Georg clarified. "He's never been the type to be loving with his courtesans, you know? I mean, he--"

"That's not it," Tom interrupted with a careless wave that sent beer slopping up one side of his mug. He set it back down, remembered to turn his head to the other side as he belched, and grabbed his own linen to dab at his mouth. This time when he glanced at Bill, it was as though asking permission.

Bill's dark brows were arched inquisitively. Waiting for Tom to make the decision, Tom realized.

Well, if he could tell anyone, he could tell Georg.

"We think that Bill is my brother," Tom confided, leaning over the table and tucking Bill against his side in an unconscious protective gesture.

Georg frowned at them, glancing to Tom first, then Bill. He spent a moment scrutinizing Bill before restoring his gaze to Tom. "Can't be," he proclaimed. "Bill is far too beautiful to be that close a relative."

"Such a flatterer, my friend," Tom said wryly. He reached for his mug again. He was way too sober for this conversation. "If he got one of his courtesans with child, and sold Bill, it certainly would explain why he's unwilling to let Bill into the house again. If people start questioning the resemblance..."

"House Kaulitz could be in for a slap on the wrist," Georg said with a shrug. "That's strange, I would have thought your father would have closed the gates down because of the price, but for something like that...?"

"It is strange," Tom agreed. "I never took my father for the religious type, but we don't much talk about anything beyond upholding the family name and expanding the prestige and holdings of House Kaulitz, so." He shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.

"What are you going to do?" Georg wanted to know.

Tom grimaced. "I've got enough in my holdings to meet Bill's price. Interscope has assumed the debt for now, but they'll only hold off on collecting until I check out of the hotel."

"And they comped you the suite for the week," Georg summed up.

"My father has frozen my assets," Tom said, lowering his voice.

Georg's head jerked. "Can he even do that?" his friend questioned. Shaking his head slowly, Georg picked up his mug before draining his beer.

"It's done," Tom stated.

A hand stroked over Tom's thigh, the tips of long nails scratching with faint pressure through the fabric, and Tom leaned in to the comfort of Bill's touch.

"Shit," Georg said.

"Yeah," Tom said, and exhaled a heavy gust of a sigh.

"So..." Georg began. He stopped and shook his head again. "That's diabolical."

"If you know any good lawyers..." Tom said, hopeful.

"I can ask around," Georg told him. He lifted his finger, signaling the server he was ready for another beer. "That's your plan? Talk to a lawyer, get your finances unfrozen by the end of the week? Do you have any idea the pace that law proceedings take?"

"Um," Tom said, caught out.

Georg shook his head. "You're such a dummy," he said, though not without affection.

"He's not!" Bill flared, sitting up straight.

They both looked over at him and the boy went bright red, his eyes wide and penitent.

"I didn't...I'm sorry..." He hid his face against Tom's neck and Tom laughed, hugging Bill against him.

"Bill, we don't care," Tom soothed him.

"But I'm not supposed to speak unless spoken to, in public," Bill whispered, sounding miserable.

Georg snorted and Tom snickered, petting along Bill's sleek shimmery red top. "I wouldn't exactly put Georg on a same level as the general public."

Bill was still frowning as Tom moved his hand up to Bill's neck, petting along his hair.

"Seriously, Tom," Georg began.

"I know!" Tom interrupted, that panicked, tight sensation rising up inside him again. Knives suspended above him, poised to fall at his first mis-step. He barely knew how to handle this on his own, and so inviting Georg for drinks and lunch had been as much to gain some advice as it had been for companionship and catching Georg up on the newest addition to his life. Going about getting that guidance, however, made him prickly and defensive. "I know, Georg, I just...I need to pay that debt off, I have to find a way."

He wasn't going to mention Bushido's offer. Georg was a nice guy, and he'd already commented on Tom's clear affection with respect to Bill, but he was also a pragmatic sort. He might tell Tom to turn Bill over to Bushido, in hopes he could buy him back at some point after his assets were unfrozen, perhaps.

Tom's hand tensed into a fist on his mug and he glared down at the empty plate he and Bill had been sharing for dipping bread. He couldn't do that, simply hand Bill over to the man as though he were a piece of property. Bill didn't want it, not to mention Tom's own attachment to him in turn; therefore Tom was going to have to find a way.

"Are you hinting at a loan?" Georg asked.

Tom looked up, mouth still thinned to a scowl. "I wasn't," he began.

"I sure don't have enough to cover that kind of money," Georg continued, as though he hadn't heard him. "Not only thousands but _hundreds_ of thousands of _lir_ ; damn, Tom!" His eyes were on Bill as he said it, though, giving Tom the odd possessive urge to hide Bill against him.

"He's worth any amount," Tom asserted, low and fierce. "Bill is beyond a monetary amount."

Georg leaned back in his chair and smirked over at them, lifting his chin at the server as she cleared a few items and set Georg's fresh mug of beer in front of him. "Must be, in order to defy your father as I've never seen you do."

Tom laughed shortly. He wound his fingers in Bill's hair and tugged a little; not enough to move his head, but to play around, rubbing his fingers at the base of Bill's neck. Bill released a small sound that was halfway trapped between purr and groan and leaned into him.

"I've been doing well at the gaming tables," Tom said. "At least, I was last night. Parvati's still been smiling on me, and so I figure, if I continue to do well..."

"Where did the seed money come from?" Georg wanted to know, his green eyes intent.

"Well, the line of credit I set up with Interscope," Tom said, biting down and nibbling at his lip ring.

"From your family account," Georg continued. He folded his hands on the tabletop and stared over at Tom as though trying to convey some specific thought.

"Yeah," Tom said, furrowing his brow. He didn't get it.

"Tom," Bill murmured. "I don't know much about financial matters, but if the credit comes from your House account, can't your father appropriate that, too?"

With a low groan, Tom palmed his forehead. He really was a dummy, as Georg had pointed out. His beautiful, smart Bill was much more discerning. He tipped his head to the side. "You sure you want _me?_ " he questioned, tone teasing, but he was still marveling over it. "I'm clearly not the brightest star in the sky..."

Bill brought up a white-tipped finger. "Whichever star you are, you're _my_ guiding light," he responded in a husky whisper. He leaned in.

Tom began to shift himself to accommodate, going in for a kiss, until Georg's groan interrupted their moment.

"Don't make me pelt you with bread again, children," Georg told them.

Tom twitched with indignation, head snapping round to level an irked glare on Georg. "I'm of age now--"

"—as am I, or I couldn't have been sold--" Bill interjected.

"—and neither of us are _boys_ , thank you very much; we're men, so shut up about that--"

"—unless you'd like demonstrative proof right in front of you?" Bill wound up, arching a darkly-shaded black brow.

"Oh, that's a good one," Tom said, admiring.

Georg was lifting both hands. "I concede," he said, his eyes sparkling at them. He focused on Tom. "God, one of you was bad enough, but you had to go and find a like-minded partner, didn't you?"

"The better to oppress you," Tom said, lifting his chin. He gave Bill a delighted grin for his forthright banter. "All right, Georg, so I'm an idiot and I can't apply any winnings to my debt for Bill's sale. Have you got any stellar ideas, then?"

"Naturally," Georg said, leaning back and bestowing a broad smirk on them.

Tom began to growl at him, lapsed back into the booth, and draped an arm around Bill to calm his nerves and keep from snapping. "Well, oh brilliant one? Make it good, or I'm going to regale Bill with the unfortunate and disgustingly epic saga of your bathroom escapades."

Bill began to giggle and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Georg made as though to get up. "You don't want my help, okay, I get it..."

"Pfft," Tom said, flicking his fingers. "I know your motto; leave no good beer behind."

Georg settled back into his side of the booth. "Fine..."

"Besides," Tom added, figuring it wouldn't hurt to drop a mention, "I was browsing for your birthday present when I found Bill, so..."

Georg gave him wounded eyes. "And decided to keep the best for yourself, I see."

Tom grimaced and Bill squirmed beside him, appearing pleased.

"Come on, man..."

"I'll give you a gift, instead," Georg interrupted. "An early mid-winter present, shall we say? It won't be much to start, but if your luck is good, you can double and redouble it into something worth a sweet sum of coin...well, credit."

Tom's eyes widened. "Georg, I didn't ask..." he began to protest.

"And you're not in a position to refuse," Georg said firmly. His gaze dwelt on Bill a moment before holding Tom's eyes securely. "This is what I can do, okay? Well, this and calling up just about all of our friends to come throw you a crashing engagement party."

"Georg," Tom said, and all he could do was lapse back into the booth.

Bill's hand passed over his arm; moved up his face and stroked along his jaw, turning his face so that they were aligned. He didn't ask anything, say anything; simply pressed his forehead to Tom's.

He's giving this to us, Tom imparted from that contact. He gave Bill a tiny smile and nodded.

"One of them's got to know a smash-hammer of a lawyer," Georg continued, fussing with his mobile. He raised an inquiring brow. "Mind if I use this?"

"Go on, all you like," Tom said. He waved a hand and restored all his attention where it belonged, to his beautiful Bill. He toyed with a lock of black hair and procured a grin from Bill that was part-bashful, somewhat self-conscious. "I'm in good company."

Bill grinned openly and tipped his head in to set his forehead against Tom's. "So, what next?" he wanted to know.

"Now," Tom said, nudging his nose against Bill's in the semblance of a kiss. "We roll the dice and see how far our luck will take us, hmm?"

* * *

"Bring it round again, lords, yes!" Tom called out, setting markers on the tiles that would indicate his bets.

Bill bounced on his toes, kissing the fine bones of Tom's wrist as Tom raised their joined hands into range. They had been playing the tables for over an hour during this stint, and Tom had more than quadrupled the gift that Georg had given him. Tom was calling Bill his lucky star, now, and there was a press of people around them clustering to place their own bets.

He watched with his heart soaring as the spinner made its golden revolutions and people surged to either side of their vantage point at the foot of the table, shouting and shoving their own markers forth. Bill laughed, turning one way and the other to take in the full crowd. A few of the bettors were Tom's friends, but most were older men or women with gorgeous courtesans on their arm that Bill could recognize by marque or collar, or simply the way they held themselves; the House insignia and corresponding tab to signify their station below it on the collar or neckline of their clothing.

Bill was flying high not only on the rush of gambling by proxy but the delivery of a constant stream of compliments from Tom's lips to his ears; he was the best-looking person in the world, and all manner of related flattery. His heart did a funny lurch with each large bet Tom placed, but so far most of his efforts had borne out, any losses more than made up for.

Their entwined fingers squeezed tight and Bill watched as the pointer came to rest, indicating the number whose multiples translated into winning tiles.

A throttled shout went up from the storm of people enclosing the gaming table and Bill found himself picked up and spun in a tight, dizzying circle.

"We won!" Tom exclaimed, setting him back onto his feet.

Bill grinned at him, incredulous over yet another win. He was a shade taller than Tom, he noted, but Tom was stronger, built up enough to loft Bill with ease, at least. "We won," he echoed, recognizing the sentiment behind it even if partaking of the winnings in his own right was impossible. Everything Tom was betting and getting back would go into paying off Bill's debt, after all, and that was for Bill's benefit indeed.

"Can we take a break?" Bill murmured into Tom's ear, not so much because he was parched or hungry but because each progressive bet increased his fretting over the potential for tumbling from the height of so much money built over such a short amount of time.

"Sure!" Tom replied, jovial and grinning over the most recent win. "Georg knows how to throw a hell of a party, I think the boys are still doing rounds of drinks over in the lounge."

Bill made an affirmative noise, parceling out smiles every which way at flashy people dressed up in the latest styles and jewels the size of small fruits. Some courtesans were not much more than highly priced bed-warmers, a gorgeous person to show off on one's arm at parties and perform song or dance or some other skill on command for their master's entertainment, but some were a power within their own right in their respective Houses. Courtesans could serve as diplomat and conduit for information, paving the way for securing alliances and favors. It was one reason Bill had been trained in recognizing every major and minor House insignia and the names of most nobles and heirs apparent.

Tom wanted that kind of partnership from Bill, he knew without being told, and so he was friendly and gracious to everyone to whom he was introduced. At some point he'd make his way through the courtesan society, might even broker deals to increase the status of House Kaulitz, and he found himself looking forward to taking on new responsibilities. Being useful as well as pretty, perhaps even with his own measure of status, was appealing.

“Johann,” Tom greeted another noble as they approached the gaming level's lounge. “How goes the party?”

A thin, dark-haired man with floppy hair paused as he was addressed. He gave Tom an awkward grimace and shoved hair off his forehead. “Dispersing, I think,” Johann replied.

“That's too bad,” Tom said.

His hand flexed on Bill's waist and moved lower, cupping his flank as he aligned Bill against his body. Bill lowered his head as he enjoyed the now-familiar tingle of arousal smoldering in his belly, suspended but ready to spread lower at the slightest encouragement from Tom.

Now that he'd been relieved of the belt permanently, Bill was certain he could spend all his time naked and ready for Tom if that was called for. He'd never been so turned on – had never been capable, before – and it was wonderful. He was a little worried he might be addicted to sex and it had only been a few days.

“Georg said you were looking for a lawyer,” Johann said, pulling his mobile unit from a trouser pocket.

Bill lifted his head, roused from a pleasant fantasy of Tom having him right over the table. He didn't particularly care if the room would be empty or not, he wanted Tom that much. It had been hours.

The subject got his attention, though. Tom had declared his determination yesterday to get a lawyer, yet he'd spent most of the day hanging out with Georg, gambling, and partying with friends. Bill's mind shied away from rendering any overt criticism of Tom and his methods, but he was worried now that the subject of a lawyer had come up again.

“Yes,” Tom confirmed. “Someone who does family and financial law, preferably. I'm having kind of a family dispute and my father has locked my assets.”

Johann nodded, incurious. “I've got the guy for you. He's young, but he's been working with his father's firm since he was apprenticeship-age. Master Gustav Schafer, I'll send his info to your mobile.”

“Great!” Tom exclaimed. “Can I buy you a round, Johann?”

“Thanks, but I'm at my limit,” the reedy fellow demurred. “Congratulations on your...uh...Bill.”

Tom beamed and Bill couldn't help but grin, biting at his lip to try and contain the sheer ebullience of his expression.

“You two look happier than my sister and her fiancé,” Johann concluded. He bowed and withdrew, one thin hand tapping away at his mobile.

Bill found himself turned in Tom's arms to face a welcome assault of kisses. 

“That's another step closer,” Tom declared, dotting a kiss on Bill's chin mole and appearing pleased. The discreet chime of a notification made him pull his phone from his pocket. “Well, everyone else is ignoring me, but I'll find my own way. Too late to make an appointment tonight but I'll message him now and see if we can set something up for tomorrow.”

“But Georg said the lawyer route would take too long?” Bill wondered, counting down through the days left in the week.

“That's if we had to sue,” Tom said absently, dowsing through touch-screens with the tip of his finger. “There might be an easy solution, some convenient bit of law that would clear this whole thing up. Or we might only need to threaten my father with a lawsuit to get this taken care of. We'll know more after we talk with Master Schafer.”

He looked up from his mobile after a moment, stowing his phone and looking thrilled all over again to find Bill beside him.

“So that's the contingency plan,” Tom announced. He set his hand at the join of Bill's neck and shoulder, a gesture both possessive and arousing, sending a sensual prickle through Bill's limbs. “The plan most promising, for now, is to build up those winnings from the seed money that Georg gave me into enough credit of my own with Interscope. I could pay the debt off before we even see a lawyer!”

Bill grinned over at him, caught up in Tom's enthusiasm, his certainty. “That would be ideal,” he agreed. He lowered his lashes, gazing at Tom and trying to infuse all the slow-building desire that possessed him into a single look. “You did say we could take a break, though.”

Tom looked staggered. “Oh,” he murmured, in a tone completely different from his cocky assurance. “You want to...upstairs...?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bill hummed, and reached for Tom's other hand.

“Let's go!”

They didn't need Padma the concierge's guidance to get from gaming levels to their suite upstairs anymore, for which Bill was grateful. There was no waiting, they could set their own frantic pace, and it left them to their own devices in the lift.

Bill gasped as he thunked against the elevator wall, arching up into Tom's roaming hands and opening his mouth to the demanding tongue that Tom sent questing over his lip.

“Love you,” Tom mumbled in his ear, “love you, Bill; you're the best thing in my life.”

Bill's heart soared higher than the golden cogs and silver dials of the gaming spinner could ever send it, and whimpered as he tried to get closer than close to Tom, arms ringed tightly about his neck, a leg lifting to fasten over Tom's hip and draw their bodies together.

Tom moaned into his mouth, sending his tongue against Bill's in soft licks, flickers of withdrawal before pressing in again.

The chime at the top floor startled them both and they hurried, breathless and hand in hand, from lift to suite.

Tom had been so careful with him all day and Bill was grateful, beyond happy that his fortunes were now bound up with someone so considerate of him, but he was hungry for what he'd been denied all day, and the evening before. Not two steps from the door through which they were equals in their status as lovers, Bill made his demands clear.

“I want your cock,” Bill said bluntly, gripping it through Tom's trousers. He was hard and every bit as eager, if the twitch that greeted Bill's palm through the fabric was any indication.

“All right,” Tom responded, looking too desperate to deny any configuration Bill might propose.

They made it to the bed, but barely.

Afterward, Bill lay in Tom's arms drowsing as he looked out over the trail of discarded clothes that they had left in their wake. He was sore already but so satisfied, lazing in the welter of good sensations brought about not only by the joining of their bodies but the way Tom held him, stroking sweat-soaked hair away from his face as though he were the most precious being in existence.

“I should get back to the gaming tables,” Tom said thoughtfully, shifting and making their sweaty bodies slide together, hips skidding. Tom was as whipcord-thin as Bill and neither of them had a lot of padding.

“Oh,” Bill said, disappointed.

Tom ran a hand down his back and pulled Bill up into his arms so that they were face to face. “I'm only part-way there,” he reminded Bill, his voice soft. “I figure, if you're on a lucky streak...”

“...why interrupt it for a midnight tumble?” Bill said, quirking a brow.

Tom snorted. “I could have dragged you off for a bathroom quick one instead of coming all the way up to the suite, if that mattered. No. I don't even want anyone _hearing_ you in your passion,” Tom said, tone solemn even as his mouth turned up in a wicked curve. “You are my lucky streak and I rode it to the natural conclusion, didn't I?” His hand stroked at the dip of Bill's spine and they shivered together as Bill wriggled closer.

“That you did,” Bill said, giggling both at Tom and the squirm of almost ticklish sensation that coursed through him at the touch. He folded his hands over Tom's collarbones and gazed over into heavy-lidded brown eyes, similar enough to his own that he was still marveling. “Can't believe we might be brothers.”

“I think we are,” Tom said. 

Bill ducked forward to seed a quick kiss in the hollow between Tom's collarbones and sat up over his lap, nestling their bare cocks together. “I really love that,” Bill confided.

Tom groaned and pushed up. He tongued at his lip, eyes hot on Bill. “That turns you on?”

“Mm, yes,” Bill said, and moaned as he began to move his hips, the rolling motion bumping him against Tom's stomach repeatedly. He ran a hand down Tom's sweaty front and poked at Tom's second erection of the evening with another giggle. “You, too?”

“It's you,” Tom said, grasping at Bill's hips, but not to stop him. “No matter what, the biggest turn-on is that it's you.”

Bill grinned happily down at him, all but purring. He reached down to clasp them together, rocking with sweet inevitability. “Still plan on riding that lucky streak tonight?”

“All night, right here,” Tom promised, and tugged Bill down to his chest for involved, probing kisses, delicious as the prelude to lovemaking.


	14. Passing the Luck

A neat cluster of buildings at ground level stood interspersed with tall trees, black latticework laden with scallop-edged green leaves. Tom had stared at the trees, a rarity in the downtown area of Berlin, for a long moment as he held Bill's hand and the tight sensation returned to his chest. The address that Johann had given him was so far outside the central places of congress in Berlin that it was practically the suburbs. At last, Bill had given his hand a shy squeeze, prodding him into action. They ascended the steps together.

It had taken Tom near twenty minutes to find a parking space for the private craft. Unlike the multi-complex and Interscope, with entire docking levels devoted to private craft parking, the quiet business district did not offer many spaces for flitters.

A secretary answered the door, young and solemn-eyed, her dark brown hair pinned up in a mass at the back of her head. She ushered them to an inner chamber with wood paneling that was lined with an impressive array of books, actual hard-bound books rather than data loads. Tom glanced around with interest as he and Bill settled down onto the couch by the window. It was flanked with a table that was stacked with more books, and faced a coffee table that opposed two more chairs. Off to one side was a battered but comfortable-looking armchair.

"Have you ever seen so many books?" Bill exclaimed, obviously of the same mind.

"Not outside university," Tom replied, shaking his head.

Bill made a small noise and Tom bent his attention Bill's way, both of them smiling self-consciously as they realized Tom had been tickling Bill's neck with his dreadlocks.

"Here," Tom said, lifting Bill's hand manually. "You can do it to me."

"Tickle you...?" Bill questioned, eyes saucer wide. He plucked at one of Tom's dreadlocks.

"Yeah, I--" Tom began, and broke off as the door on the far side clicked open.

A blond, broad-shouldered young man entered the room. He was dressed in an immaculate but not high-end suit and a pair of square-framed black glasses were settled on his blunt nose. "Good morning," he greeted them quietly.

Tom gaped. "You're...you're my age," he stammered, on the verge of bolting up from the sofa and pulling Bill from the room.

The solemn young man blinked. "I've been working in my father's practice for four years, and I assure you I've passed the bar already."

"All right..." Tom said uneasily.

"If you'd like me to refer you elsewhere, or see if my father can accommodate you, I can do that," the young man told him. "Though you did indicate if was a matter of some urgency."

Tom waved a hand, settling down into the embrace of the couch beside Bill again. "Yes...yes, that's correct. I don't have time to waste, I've...actually, I've got until the end of the week to resolve a legal situation with my father."

"I'll see what I can do," the young man said. "I hope you won't think we're dragging along if we pause for introductions."

Bill squeaked beside him, jabbing Tom in the side with a very sharp-nailed finger.

"My manners are abysmal," Tom said, abashed. "I'm..."

"Noble Lord Tom Kaulitz," the young man filled in. "I guessed by the regal attitude."

Bill pinched his side and Tom winced.

"I apologize," Tom said, inclining his head. "I'm...worried over the situation we're...I mean, I'm in."

"We," Bill murmured, and sat up straight.

"This is my courtesan, Bill," Tom continued. "And you must be Gustav Schafer."

The young man nodded and seated himself across the coffee table from them, taking the comfortable chair. "How can I help you, Tom and Bill?"

Tom couldn't help but grin at the way Bill snuggled into the curve of his arm as their names were joined together. He'd liked the way Georg had said it yesterday, too. The smile fell away from his face as he considered the enormity of what still barred their path. "Indirectly, Bill's the reason I'm here today, actually..." Tom began.

"Directly, I'd say," Bill murmured near to his ear.

"I don't do commodities law," Gustav told him, folding his hands together in a very precise sort of way.

"No, I'm here for your specialty in finance law," Tom assured him. "I purchased Bill a few days ago, and my father froze all of my assets. Everything from my stocks, my dividends...I need to liquidate everything to pay off what I owe Interscope for Bill, but..."

"But your head of House put a hold on the money," Gustav said with a nod.

"Can he even do that?" Tom said, still grumbling over it.

Gustav steepled his fingers. "As your head of House, he can order a hold on funds, but as to whether he can ultimately deny you the right to access them...it's complicated. I'll have to do some research."

"Ah, great," Tom said, slumping against the back of the couch. Back to the primary plan, winning enough based off Georg's seed money. Research would take ages.

"I'm assuming that the assets you've acquired up until now were earned or obtained before your majority, before you were a legal adult?" Gustav paused for Tom's nod before continuing. “Yes, your father would have the right to order a hold on any funds acquired under the auspices of the Kaulitz name.”

“Even stocks that were gifted to me by my grandfather?” Tom burst out. His chest ached. He had to remind himself to breathe as Bill touched him, fanning a hand out over his thigh. Freeing up stocks and bonds alone wouldn't do it. He had to liquidate all of it, revolution-razing style, or he wouldn't have enough to meet the balance. “I can't...ugh, I can't believe this.”

“The stocks were from House Kaulitz to your name, so yes,” Gustav said, leaning forward, both hands on his knees. A frown, almost a squint settled onto his brow. “By what date do you need the funds?”

“End of the week,” Tom said, glum.

Gustav inhaled, appearing dubious. “I'll look into case law precedents for something that might help, but...”

“Can I sue him?” Tom interrupted. “If I brought a lawsuit against my own father, or threatened to, that might be public enough for him to agree to unfreeze the money, right?”

Gustav gave him a measuring glance. “I can't say what your father would or would not do,” he stated. “However, it's risky. If your goal is to unfreeze your assets and liquidate them all by the end of the week, I wouldn't depend on that plan. For one, a judge might deem it a frivolous lawsuit and toss it out; for another, at the pace they set court dates, it would be weeks until your docket makes it to a judge.”

“So what are my options?” Tom said, scrubbing his hands uselessly over his thighs. He was hopeless, powerless, stuck in exactly the position into which Jorg had maneuvered him. He had no leverage. Bringing up the subject of Bill again would only piss him off, and as for police action...that would only get his father fined. It would worsen the situation.

“I'll have to look into it,” Gustav said. “It's not exactly inheritance law but it's similar...family finance law is still tricky and a lot of situations have no clear resolution, it would have to be ruled in court. Without further research I'd say it's possible your father has the legal right to keep a hold on your funds until just after you'd need them.”

Tom's breathing sped up short. Black spots swam in his vision.

“Tom. Tom...Tomi.”

That last entreaty was spoken for Tom's ears alone. Tom took in a gusting breath and focused on Bill's worried brown eyes.

“Tom, we'll figure something out, okay?” Bill whispered, withdrawing his hand from Tom's face, his own expression contracted in anxious lines. “Breathe.”

Tom nodded curtly, paying attention for the moment necessary to ensure his breathing was regulating, returning to normal patterns. He still felt as though he couldn't get enough air.

“Keeping Bill is really important to you,” Gustav observed.

"Yes. He's not a commodity to me," Tom stated, getting it out there. At Gustav's lack of negative reaction, he was emboldened to say, "I love Bill. I can't lose him."

Gustav responded with a slow nod. He looked into the middle distance a moment before focusing on Bill. "How do you feel about this situation, Bill?"

"I'm scared," Bill admitted frankly, groping for Tom's hand. He joined their fingers and took a breath. "Tom is everything I wanted when I was sold – even everything I couldn't admit I hoped for. He's my lover, my partner. I'm already planning what the rest of our lives may hold and the thought of losing that..." He broke off, biting at his lip.

Tom had followed the entire speech with a rising wonder and swell of humbleness. That he could be this lucky – how did he deserve it? Frustrated rage burned him anew over how his father wanted to take this from him.

"I think I understand, thank you." Gustav sat up and adjusted his glasses. He met Tom's eyes with the utmost seriousness. "I will give this situation my very best, Lord Tom. I'll focus on approaches that look as though they could present a quick solution, given that time is a factor."

Tom's shoulders slumped. He had been hoping an answer would present itself at the first consultation; not that he'd be given a response of 'I need more time.'

Gustav observed quietly, "I know this is probably not what you hoped for, but in order to provide you both with the best chances, I must do research. Law, especially finance law, is not as clear-cut as one might assume."

"I understand," Bill answered, squeezing Tom's hand. A foot nudged against Tom's, not prodding, simply resting there.

"Right," Tom said mechanically, not bothering to summon up Bill's level of graciousness. He didn't even want to bring up Bushido and his offer; the thought filled him with despair.

"We should meet again to discuss findings," Gustav said. "I'll have Lydia set something up. Your availability?"

"Open," Tom said, and issued a hollow chuckle. "This, getting this resolved, is the most important thing."

Gustav nodded. "Is there anything else that should be brought to my attention?"

Tom worried at his lip an instant before he could make his eyes focus. "Well, I borrowed some money from Georg, my friend Georg. I set up a separate account with Interscope using that money and I've been gambling, increasing the account with winnings. Could my father touch that?"

Gustav shook his head at once. "No, not that. So long as that was a transfer that took place when you're of age, and the account was set up directly by you, it's entirely within your control."

"Then I could increase it with gambling funds and, if I built it up to the amount I need, I could pay off the debt," Tom said, a spark of excitement rising. So long as there was hope, a path free and clear of the oppressing brambles...

"I wouldn't count on gambling money," Gustav cautioned, his brow creasing in a frown.

"It's something my father can't touch," Tom replied. "It's what I've got for now."

Bill stroked Tom's leg as though providing reassurance, or simply reminding Tom he was there.

They said their goodbyes in a rather efficient way and Gustav sent them off with a promise of serious research, to which Tom was tempted to crack he didn't think Gustav could be anything but serious, and a follow-up appointment to be set for the next day. They shook hands, including Gustav and Bill, and when Tom brought up the subject of payment Gustav said with all solemnity that he didn't charge for a consult and hadn't yet given Tom any legal advice.

Willing to let that go for now, Tom tucked Bill against his side again in a position that was fast becoming his favorite, outside of bed, and they found their way back to the flitter.

Before they had even reached the craft, Tom's mobile chimed with a notification.

He excused himself with Bill to glance at it. It was an appointment sent from Gustav's secretary. In days past he might have made an observation to his companion on the general knowledge of how the most uptight-looking women like Lydia were wildest in bed. He suppressed it manfully, knowing that instances of Bill pouting were less likely to lead to mutual enjoyment for both of them.

“There,” Tom said, accepting the appointment, an act that scheduled it automatically to his mobile's calendar function. “We're seeing him again tomorrow.”

“Oh, I hope he can help,” Bill said, one hand fluttering near to his face.

“I think he's probably a good lawyer, so far as that goes, but we can't count on him,” Tom returned. “End of the week, Bill. That's all we've got and I have to...I _can't_...” He had to stop as a hot tear sparked in his eye, threatening to drop and take all his defenses with it.”

“Back to Interscope?” Bill murmured, hugging his arm round Tom's waist.

Nowhere else to go, Tom thought, but had the sense not to say it.

The view of the golden spire as they zoomed in from the suburbs might have been inspiring under any other occasion. Tom ignored it in favor of sending messages from his mobile, reaching out with one long leg to hook an ankle around Bill's, at least, to have that much contact. He had thanks to send to Georg and a brief progress update, another carefully-worded missive to his father, an appeal to the still-silent family lawyer. After a moment of consideration, he sent notice to Benzner that he was retaining legal counsel on the matter of his finances. He was pretty sure it wouldn't do any good, but couldn't afford to leave any angle untested.

Padma greeted them at the docking bay, her expression pleasant and professional as always. Today, Tom was ready with a proposed deviation from the program.

“I'm going to have Padma show me to the gaming level then she can escort you to your room, all right? Tom murmured, pausing to face Bill before they left the docking area. He reached up to brush fingers over Bill's smooth cheek, lingering with his thumb caressing a mole.

“What?” Bill said, frowning. “Why?”

“Well, we hustled out this morning to make that appointment at the crack of dawn,” Tom said, and cupped Bill's jaw. “Barely enough time for you to freshen up, let alone spend that hour in the bathroom--”

“We left at eleven in the morning,” Bill said, and his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a snicker. “Though I take your point. What about your lucky star?”

Tom raised a brow. “I've got a plan for that.”

“Oh?” Bill mimicked his gesture again, raising his own dark brow.

“Mm-hmm, you're going to give me one hell of a lucky kiss.”

“Am I, now,” Bill murmured, but he appeared intrigued.

As they turned back to Padma after their exchange, ready to proceed into the building proper, Tom was fairly sure he saw an indulgent smile on the concierge's lovely lips. She snapped to attention at once, her professional expression smoothing back into place.

At the row of glass, gilt-edged doors that led to the gaming floor, Tom swept Bill into his arms for a passionate kiss. He was hoping Bill wouldn't feel put on the spot, at least, given the warning, but was astounded with how enthusiastically Bill got into it, twining his tongue with Tom's even before their lips had fully sealed and moaning, giving up dominance of the kiss as Tom stroked his tongue in and circled the head of Bill's tongue stud. He sought out every part of Bill's mouth, palate and tongue, even dabbling against teeth in his urgency. Bill sent his own tongue questing back, molding to Tom's, guiding the heat into a sustained flame as they kissed fit to set the room ablaze.

When Bill began to hitch a leg up over Tom's hip, and Tom reached down to hold it in place, Padma cleared her throat.

“Milord,” the concierge interjected. “I can show you to your room, if you wish.”

Tom took the hint and pulled away, brushing his lips against Bill's kiss-swollen ones in farewell.

“For luck,” Bill said huskily. He reached up to press two fingertips to his mouth, and dragged them over Tom's. “Don't be long.”

He turned and strode over to Padma, and all Tom could fixate on were the tight swells of his retreating ass, not quite visible through the loose pants he'd worn today, but well remembered and beloved.

“Ah, hells,” Tom said, as he groped for a reason not to follow immediately. _Keeping_ that beloved boy was his reason for coming to the gaming level to begin with, of course.

He returned to the tables, tapping into the account he'd built over the course of the last day. Tom checked his balance through his mobile first, satisfied at the number that was already a good deal greater than what he'd started with. It wasn't enough, but he'd get there.

Nothing was going to keep him from what was his by their mutual desire; not his father, not Bushido and his scheming, not a petty lock on his assets.

“Care for a game, milord Kaulitz?” a green-frocked game attendant invited. He wore a uniform similar to Padma's, his insignia also proclaiming him a freeman. His hair was short and dark and his eyes were keen.

“Absolutely,” Tom replied.

Though it was early, Tom accepted the drink that was offered to him by a tableside server and began the business of acquiring money.

The card games were easy. Tom wasn't playing against a crowd of elbows and souped-up House accounts, only the dealer and an intermittent early gamer, and losses were few, so he never took too hard of a hit. It took forever to build up money that way, though, because the card tables topped out at maximum bets.

There were shiny, high-tech wall display games and lever machines, but those had such low odds of winning that Tom never tried them.

After a steady winning streak at the card table, Tom checked his balance again and sighed over how long it was taking to get anywhere. He didn't want to take too long – there was naked Bill in a tub to consider, after all, and they hadn't done it _there_ yet – but he wanted to build up to at least double where he'd started that morning before he paused.

Bill was worth every _lir_ of that record-setting price, but damn if it was easy to get there.

Giving a nod to the dealer, Tom swiped his hand at the display inset at his side of the table and cashed out. It was time to move on to more lucrative games, however risky.

“Step up, noble lords and ladies; step up to test your luck at the turn of fate's wheel,” a dusky-skinned young man crooned. He was exotic, the type who'd have definitely turned Tom's head in days past.

Tom's steps had taken him to the tiles, the riskiest but potentially largest return for his money, where he had gamed for hours the day before. It was how he'd doubled and redoubled Georg's 'early mid-winter' gift.

“Noble Lord Kaulitz,” the dealer said, recognizing him from the day before. “Care to spin the wheel?”

“You'll be spinning it,” Tom said, settling his drink tableside. He swiped his hand at one of the display stations. “I'll be choosing the winning tiles.”

The dealer answered with a flash of toothy grin.

As Tom placed his bets, a progressively larger crowd joined him at the tiles. He started out conservative, and lost three rounds in a row. With a shrug, Tom kept his Bill firmly in mind and chose more tiles, placing a bet that was larger than all the money he'd lost in the previous rounds.

“Winner!” the dealer declared, sweeping a hand out to indicate Tom as both his tiles scored the win.

More people were joining the table, mostly older nobles coming down for the first post-lunch hit of the day. Tom grinned as someone clapped him on the shoulder.

“Where's your gorgeous young man?” a grey-haired older noble wanted to know.

“Waiting for me upstairs,” Tom replied, full of cheek.

The older man smiled at him. “The victory prize, hmm?”

“You have no idea,” Tom said happily. He turned to the dealer to place another debt.

Several more spins brought him a few glorious rounds of wins, breaking into the triple digits at last until Tom was the center of a roar of acclaim. Tom grinned, gulped his drink down, and checked his mobile.

He stared at the figure in his Interscope account. It was a staggering sum.

Bill was upstairs, the thought rose up with a beckoning effervescence. He could picture Bill splayed out against crimson sheets, his dark eyes fixed on Tom. He could easily imagine surprising Bill in a decadent bath, filled to the brim with delicious scents and even more delectable suds-slick Bill.

The noise of the crowd jostling him was louder than the clamor in his own brain. _Go,_ his instincts urged him. _Leave. Find Bill._

“Let's see if you can top that!” the man to his left chortled.

"What a phenomenal win!" the grey-haired noble said, and Tom tried to imagine his father saying the same in such an admiring tone.

"Thanks," Tom said, ducking his head.

"Next bets, place your bets!" the dealer cried, resting his hand on the mechanism that would set the golden spinner on its chance-driven cogs once more.

Other nobles were already hastening to place bets, dialing in amounts and choosing tiles. Tom closed his eyes for a moment at the center of the chaos, wetting his lips with his tongue. He was already riding such an incredible surge of luck...

"Final bets, please," the dealer urged.

"Aren't you going to ride it?" the noble beside Tom asked.

Tom pulled in a lungful of humid air and checked his Interscope balance. His eyes widened. It was higher than he'd thought.

If he put down the balance, every single _lir_ of it, his winnings would cover Bill's entire price.

It was too good of an omen to back down now. Heart trip-hammering in his chest, Tom laid it all down and chose his tiles in the last instant before the dealer gave him an encouraging smile and set the spinner on the first of its time-stopping revolutions.

It spun and spun, and Tom watched and thought of that suspended moment when he'd waited for someone to top his bid, to take Bill from him. This was that agony redoubled. If he lost...

Tom kept his eyes fixed on the spinner and prayed harder than he had in his life.

A dull roar started up as Tom kept his eyes fixed on that shining, revolving spinner. He licked and bit at his lips as it slowed on the giant face of numerals. Another...one more...

It stopped short.

Tom's groan of anguish was swallowed up in the crowd as the people around him jostled and cheered for another man's win. Frantic, he swiped at his mobile only to find the numbers on the display reset, at once, to zero.

Gone.

Everything was gone.

Tom began to crumple until the hard edge of the table caught him. In a daze, he logged out of the display, not that there was anything left in his account to wager, and stuffed his mobile into his pocket. He stumbled away from the table, a few inquiries from the people who had stood near him falling on deaf ears. All he could think of was Bill, and the shocking moment that spinner had halted on the wrong number. Tom pressed his hands to his face and was surprised to find his skin cold, his hands icy. All of the money he'd built up from Georg's generous gift was gone, all of their hopes...

"Lost," Tom mumbled aloud. "I lost it all."

Somehow he found his way back to the lift. He was numb, still. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket several times and checked it, looking at the account data that was still open and flinching every time he saw it.

When he reached the suite, the lighting in the outer rooms was low. Tom pulled his mobile from his pocket once more, before hurling the data unit at the couch. It bounced over a cushion and clattered to the floor.

"Tom?"

Bill's voice came from the bedroom, low and eager.

Tom stifled a sob. _I can't._ He collapsed into the nearest chair and covered his face with his hands. He couldn't tell Bill. What could he possibly say? He'd had the sane urge to leave, and return to his lover, and he'd blown it all on a _feeling?_ A hot prickle of moisture chased down his face and Tom shuddered, biting his lip hard to prevent any noise from leaving him.

"Tom?" Bill's voice was closer now. "Tom...? Oh gods, Tomi, what happened?"

As Bill hurried to his side and wrapped him in his arms, Tom broke down at last.

"I lost it," Tom rasped. He clung to Bill in turn, holding fast. "I lost it all."

Bill made a soft, shocked sound and rubbed at Tom's face with his sleeve. He seated himself across Tom's lap, bringing them closer, leaving space enough to breathe and not much more.

Tom held him tightly, admitting out loud the fear that had been rising in ever-greater waves. "I don't know what to do. Bill. I don't...gods, I don't know what we're going to do."


	15. Cut Off

Bill woke, stretched, and smiled at the sight that greeted his sleepy eyes. Tom was sprawled out beside him on his stomach, his nude upper torso gilt in the sunlight that drenched the bed with a torrent of radiant warmth. His loose dreadlocks were spilled out over his shoulders and back, partly obscuring his face from view. Bill's fingers itched to push the soft raveled hair aside to get a better look at that beloved face, but a twinge of remembered anxiety stayed his hand.

They had held one another last night, merely that, as Tom had wept tears of frustrated anguish against Bill's shoulder and brushed at his face as though to deny it had happened. When they had stripped down to retire to bed, Tom had cuddled against him close but made no overtures, and Bill was happy simply to be in his arms.

Bill sat up, rubbing at his eyes and contemplating what might come next with some despair. If the lawyer Gustav didn't come through with a legal solution, would Bill have to be sold to Bushido against his will?

Not that his 'will' mattered to anyone but Tom...

Once again, Bill's fingers twitched with the urge to reach out for Tom, to stroke him to awareness, to be held close the way they had wrapped themselves up in one another the night before. When the rest of the world hemmed them in with questions that couldn't be resolved, the simple nearness of Tom was the only reassurance he had.

Instead, Bill rolled out of bed to bathe and ready himself for the day, whatever it presented. He was certain they wouldn't be staying in the suite, at least. Perhaps he could entreat Tom to take him on a trip through the city for the day, the two of them losing themselves in the moment. He wanted to be with Tom for a little while, at least, if it couldn't be forever.

When he turned on the waterspout, Bill started as naked skin brushed against his, hands moving over his thin chest and arms settling around his waist in a comforting ring.

"Hey," Tom said, his voice sleep-rough. "I woke up and you weren't there."

"Didn't want to wake you," Bill replied, tone apologetic. "You looked so peaceful."

"I'd rather spend every waking moment with you," Tom told him. His words closed to a bare whisper at the end. He rubbed his cheek against Bill's shoulder.

"Me too," Bill said, placing a hand over one of Tom's, which was settled on his stomach. "You want to shower? Or go back to bed?"

Tom pursed his lips against Bill's shoulder in the semblance of a kiss. "Let's shower, we've got to get ready. We've got a busy day ahead," he replied.

"Oh?" Bill said with interest. He stepped into the spacious shower stall, leaving Tom to follow and pull the glass door closed behind them. Bill turned beneath the spray, stepping back until the water coursed over his hair and spilled in rivulets down his face.

"Yeah, I've got no pride left," Tom said, his brown eyes stark as he gazed at Bill. His dreads were bundled back away from his face. "I'm going out begging today. Every single person I know, I'm calling in any favor, collecting any money or bet due, asking for whatever my friends can give me – or loan me. They ought to know I'm good for it."

"Georg?" Bill quizzed, reaching for the soap and passing it over. He squirted shampoo into his palm and stepped out of the direct spray to lather his hair up.

"I'll try him last," Tom replied, looking down and working the soap between his hands. "I'm such an idiot. I blew all of the money he gave me in twenty-four hours. I'm exactly the dummy he accused--"

"You're not!" Bill exclaimed, setting aside the container in his hands, gathering Tom into his arms and hugging their skinny bodies close together. "You're not an idiot, Tom; it was bad luck--"

"And I ought to have known better than to ride that streak and place everything down on one bet," Tom whispered into his ear, giving a miserable sniff. It was the same recrimination he'd mumbled over and over the night before.

"It's done," Bill said, petting him clumsily. "There's no reversing it. We can only go forward from here, you know?"

"I don't want to go forward if it means losing you," Tom said, surging into his arms, pinning him against the wet tiled wall.

"Tom," Bill said, and repeated it in a moan when Tom's soapy hands trailed down his body.

After a lengthy shower and clean-up, Tom gave Bill a lingering kiss before disappearing for the bedroom with a promise to get ready for his round of so-called begging.

Bill viewed it as a series of business calls, and made up his face accordingly. He knew that his presence on Tom's arm was a kind of status symbol, a gesture of affluence; moreover Bill was gaining an awareness that he truly wasn't an average courtesan. He'd never considered himself special, aside from his chaste status, but that was gone now. He no longer wore the red robes of an unsold commodity. Despite that, he still turned heads wherever they went, and the sale price that Tom was struggling to meet was the highest for a chaste lot in their generation – and now everyone knew it. He saw the avidity, even outright jealousy in the faces of the noblemen and women that spoke with Tom and looked at Bill.

If there was any way that Bill could use his looks to make the day go easier for Tom, to subtly negotiate a path through favors and requests and gain positive responses wherever they went, he would do it.

He smoothed on his makeup with steady fingers, glossed his lips, and went to select a suitable outfit from the clothes that Tom had given him free rein to purchase the other day. His eyes pricked as his hands sifted through fine fabric. What would he do if he was separated from Tom, from the man who urged him to do as he liked, dress according to his own style, make his own choices? His heart could never accept any substitute.

He reached up to his nape, touching the lotion-covered skin at his nape with a finger, lingering only briefly. He wanted to wear Tom's marque for the rest of his life.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Tom said from across the room, watching Bill. "Okay? We're going to ask everyone I know."

Bill nodded, biting his lip. He pulled on elegant black trousers; buckled on knee-high black boots that laced all the way up the front. After a long moment of consideration, he dug up a pure white shirt and put it on under a black jacket with a cut-away chest and black straps criss-crossing over his front. Formal, almost militaristic, but avant garde enough to get him noticed. He touched up the hair around the crown of his head in spiky little tufts and left the rest smooth and brushed-down, flaring around the popped collar.

"I"m ready," he announced, turning and testing out his stance in the boots. He twisted this way and that, checking out poses in a full-length mirror across the room. "Tomi? How do I look?"

Tom stood, regarding Bill with open-mouthed appraisal, his brow slightly furrowed. "Like I want to take you right back to bed and...unnn..."

"That's very sexy," Bill said, cocking his head. "But I don't see how that will help us out today? Tonight, maybe." He winked, hoping to offer Tom an incentive for later.

"You're right," Tom said. He brought one hand up to his nape, expression altering to pensiveness. "Let's go."

Today once they left the docking area, Bill sat in his own chair with hands folded as Tom piloted the rented Interscope flitter through silver fish glints of bright buildings, and past row upon row of suburban buildings onto bright green expanses of land. He chinned the back of his hand and found himself wondering what the Kaulitz estate looked like; whether he'd get to see it on Tom's arm, some day, and enter as his partner, lover. Commodity, paid for and Tom's entirely.

"Where are we going?" Bill asked, more out of curiosity than out of any impression he could leverage the information into something useful.

"Kluge's," Tom replied, confirming Bill's sense of cluelessness. "I've known him since my first year of school, he's always been good for a favor."

The estate to which Tom took them was modest but enclosed by a forest, and made up of several buildings besides the main mansion. He parked on a private capsule pad, reinforcing the impression of the rarefied circle into which Bill had been propelled. A house steward was waiting to open the flitter door almost before they had landed.

Bill had never made a House visit before, though he had studied the protocols and done roleplay with his chaperone tutors. He kept his head high but his eyes down as they were introduced into House Kluge and shown to a luxuriously appointed sitting room with a view of the lawn, offered drinks and a bite to eat, and sat waiting.

“Is it normal to wait like this?” Bill murmured into Tom's ear, watching his lover twist a napkin into knots without partaking of any of the assorted edibles that had been set before them.

“Not for Artur,” Tom muttered back, his tone strained.

Bill frowned. A childhood pal of Tom's, especially one who had presumably attended the 'engagement' party that Georg had thrown the other day, shouldn't be the type to leave his friend cooling his heels in a front sitting room, no matter how nice. He didn't recall meeting Lord Kluge but he was developing an unfavorable second impression.

Tom released his hand with a pat to his fingers as a young man entered the room.

“Tom, hullo,” young Lord Kluge said heartily, shaking hands with Tom.

Bill swept low into a bow of the precise degree to acknowledge their respective differences in status and regarded Lord Kluge through his lashes. The young man was gazing at him as though fascinated.

“How are you doing?” Lord Kluge asked. “I thought you'd still be at Interscope enjoying your gorgeous courtesan.”

Tom's answering chuckle was stiff. “I would be, but I'm in a bit of a tight spot,” he admitted.

“Oh,” Lord Kluge responded.

Bill cocked his head. The young noble sounded unsurprised by Tom's revelation. Who could have spread word of their situation so quickly?

“How dreadful,” Lord Kluge continued. “Is everything all right?”

There was something off about the question; it rang insincere to Bill's ears. He furrowed his brow while continuing to glance at the young lord as discreetly as he was able. They hadn't been asked to sit, Bill noted. Tom was standing stiffly, shifting from one foot to the other, the hand nearest to Bill clenched into a fist.

“I'm having some financial troubles,” Tom said, his voice low and grudging as he gave up that information.

Lord Kluge laughed, the sound ringing loud in the wide sitting room. “House Kaulitz, having finance problems? Surely not, or we should all look to our wallets!”

“Not the House,” Tom contradicted. “Me, Artur, just me – my father wouldn't pay for Bill, here, but when I went to liquidate, he'd frozen all my assets.”

Lord Kluge chuckled again, high and nervous. “Why on earth would he do that?”

Bill regarded the young noble with increasing suspicion. Something was off here, and Kluge was a terrible actor.

“Went over the household budget,” Tom said with a shrug. “You know how my father is.”

“Jorg is very thrifty,” Kluge agreed. “All in the name of advancing your family's fortunes, eh?”

“Right,” Tom said, sour. “The thing is, I've no intention of returning Bill. He was a chaste lot, for one, and I've already _had_ him, and so...”

“You want to get your full money's worth, sure,” Kluge concurred with an uncomprehending nod.

There was a pause and Bill saw his Tom casting Kluge an irritated look that went unnoticed. For Bill's part, he was sending up a fervent thanks yet again to his lucky star that he'd gone to Tom, and not some clueless young noble that would regard him this way, something to have and cast aside when he'd gotten his full measure's worth of enjoyment. 

“Right,” Tom said after a moment. “Well, I'm having trouble accessing my own funds because of this silly dispute I'm having with my father.”

“Heads of House can be so tiresome,” Kluge agreed. “My grandfather still rules ours with an iron fist, it's no fun at all. Why, the other day, I was asking for a new--”

“Artur,” Tom interrupted, while Bill had begun to wonder whether young Lord Kluge was truly dense or that good at obfuscating. “I need to borrow some money.”

“Oh,” Lord Kluge said, and stood with his mouth open for a moment. “Oh, well, I...Tom, I am sorry.”

Bill's stomach twisted as though the young man had put a knife into it.

“You can't?” Tom asked, grasping the implications at once.

“I am very sorry,” Lord Kluge repeated, and even managed to look penitent.

“Can't, or won't?” Tom pressed, his flawless brow creasing.

His knuckles were white, Bill noticed. He wished he could take his lover's hand, but even that much was out of his control. In public, he had to wait for Tom to initiate any contact between them.

“It is out of my hands, Tom,” Kluge said, spreading his blunt fingers in a gesture of sympathy.

“All right,” Tom said, after a hideously suspended moment during which Bill wondered how protocol dictated he react if Tom punched his friend out. “I understand. We'll be on our way.”

“Do come calling once you get the situation resolved,” Kluge said, waving at him with a hopeful sort of look.

“Right,” Tom said dully, turning for the door. His shoulders were tight. “Thanks, Artur, I know the way out.”

He grasped at Bill's hand as they left the front door. His fingers were chilled and when Bill glanced over, too nervous to say a word in the presence of the house steward who was needlessly showing them the way to the private capsule pad, Tom's jaw was taut, a muscle jumping at the corner.

“Say, Hans,” Tom said abruptly, turning from Bill to the steward once the man had opened the door of the craft for them. “Has House Kluge had any other unexpected visitors over the past day?”

“Yes, milord,” Hans said at once. “House Ferchichi visited yesterday afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Tom replied, some of the tension letting out from his shoulders. “Let Millie know I'll double the mid-winter marzipan coming your way, this year.”

Hans's impassive face was graced with a slight smile. “She'll appreciate that, milord.”

Once the capsule was sealed and Tom had set the controls for the next destination, Bill inhaled, preparing the first of a number of questions that had sprung up during the visit. “Hans...is he indentured, free, or...?”

“He's a commodity,” Tom replied, “and so is his wife, Millie. I've known them since I was a kid.”

“But you've always treated them like real people,” Bill observed.

Tom frowned over at him. “Well, they are.”

Bill drew in a slow breath. “But you're different, Tom,” he tried again. “Not like Lord Kluge, or...”

Tom laughed shortly. “I spent my life being raised by so-called commodities, Bill,” he interrupted. “My best friend was one, before my father had him sold off. The way I figure, my own father was always out working so hard to improve the family name and fortunes while I was growing up, he and I spent so little time together...I suppose what others would consider to be the 'proper attitude' never rubbed off on me.”

“But he's so determined not to let you keep me,” Bill said, subdued.

Tom looked over at him, their dark eyes meeting in the middle. “That's his problem,” he said. “Not mine. Not yours, either, Bill – and he's doing something irreparable, now, putting it on both of us.” He reached out, and they tangled their fingers together.

“So what now?” Bill wondered, watching green fields glide past.

“I thought it might have been my father to visit the Kluges, but I was wrong – it was Bushido,” Tom observed.

Bill shivered. The way the man's eyes had probed him at their last meeting lingered with him. It caused a tingle within his midsection, and he wasn't sure it was the good kind.

“He's acting fast,” Tom continued. “Maybe even in coordination with my father, to get the names of friends that I would approach. He wants you very badly to go this far.” He looked solemn, perhaps even a bit scared.

“But you're not going to let him,” Bill said with confidence. One of them had to keep morale up, and Bill would go to whatever length necessary.

“No,” Tom agreed. “We're going to visit everyone I know, if it takes all day and night.”

From Kluge's, they went up a row of affluent estates, each opulent in different, striking ways. If House Kaulitz was as well off as any of them, it was clear that none of the Noble Houses were hurting for money and the price that had been bid for Bill, even, was a pittance. The point of Jorg's pettiness was driven home to Bill at each wealthy estate. Any of them could afford him, any one House could float Tom the loan needed, but none could be bothered.

They paused at mid-morning while Tom checked his phone notifications, one of them being from Gustav. They were to turn back at a half-way point to rejoin the lawyer and discuss his findings. Instead of a reminder, it was a message from Gustav that he was still poring over legal precedent and case law and following a line of inquiry and asked whether they could defer the appointment to the next day. Tom accepted, and they moved on with their increasingly fruitless visits.

At each visit they were turned away empty handed. Bill watched Tom grow increasingly shuttered, his brow drawn like a descending thundercloud by the evening. He became silent, self-contained, pulling away from Bill and no longer speaking. Each one of his 'friends' came up with some excuse, or none at all, as to why they couldn't give Tom any money, even a paltry sum of _lir_ that could be used to lump together with other offerings, or placed on the line at the gaming levels again.

At last, they were lifting off a private capsule garage space and the flitter lights cut through a darkness reflected in Tom's black expression.

Bill wrapped his arms tight across his front and despaired along with Tom.

“Is there no one else?” Bill whispered, when he could bear the silence no longer. “No one that he might not have gotten to, somehow?”

Tom crashed a fist down on his chair armrest, making Bill jump. “Fuck him,” Tom swore, his voice shaking. “Kali carve his innards with a sword of destruction.”

“Tomi,” Bill said, small-voiced. “We're still meeting with Gustav tomorrow...” There was hope, he wanted to say, however slight.

Emitting a strangled noise, Tom pounded on his armrest again. “For what? For him to tell us there's a legal proceeding, but it would take months? It would have to be proven in court? That's no good when I have until the end of the _week_ , and no one...no one...” He trailed off.

Bill bowed his head, tears staining the corners of his eyes that he knew his Tom would not release. He'd cry for both of them if need be. He could feel Tom's fury at being forced into helplessness, and it frustrated him, too. There was also the threat of separation that loomed.

The only thing that Bill had to offer was his body, his talents few as they were, and he knew Tom would immediately reject the notion of selling either. He didn't ask.

“Even Georg,” Bill said, sniffling. Tom's friend had regarded them both with sympathy and dismay. His apology, at least, had been sincere.

“I haven't asked everyone,” Tom said slowly, bunching his hands together on his knees. He rubbed at the fabric of his loose trousers with quick, anxious movements of his hands. “But then...I haven't...argh.” With a choked-off exclamation he fell into silence again.

“What do you mean?” Bill asked curiously. He wiped at his face with a furtive movement, not wanting Tom to see him cry anymore than Tom had wanted to admit his own tears to Bill the night before.

“My mother,” Tom said, sounding distracted. “But I haven't seen her in years.”

“Oh, your mother is still alive?” Bill questioned. He hadn't realized there was still a mother in the picture; the way Tom talked left no room for a mother figure and when Bill had recently brushed up on House lineage, there had been no lady of House Kaulitz.

“Yes, my father made a temporary contract with her in order to produce an heir,” Tom said, pulling out his mobile and half-turning to Bill. He was clicking through screens, a furrow settling on his brow. “He didn't go with a life marriage contract because he thought he could make a more advantageous match later, to increase the House status.”

“Your father is very focused on advancing your House name,” Bill observed.

Tom shrugged. “It's the most important thing, to my father. He wants us to be High Nobles some day – and he wants to be alive when it happens, I'm pretty sure.”

“Hmm,” Bill vocalized, focusing on the front wind screen again as Tom made his call. The sleek flitter was threading its way through pitch dark now with flickers of bright points that zipped past, homing in on whatever location Tom had programmed next. He wanted to ask where they were going, but part of him was afraid. They would meet with Gustav again tomorrow, and then...what then? Bill's mind balked. If Gustav had no solutions for them, Bill was a little afraid of what Tom might do.

“Lady Trumper, please,” Tom was saying into his mobile. “Yes. Yes, it's Tom. Hello, Karl. Yes, I remember. Thank you...yes. No. Well...is mama there? Oh.”

The defeat in Tom's tone flayed at Bill's nerves. He pulled his legs up into the chair and wrapped his arms around them tightly, curling into a compact ball of misery. It sounded as though they truly were running out of options.

“Tell her I called,” Tom continued. “Thank you, Karl. You too. Uh-huh. Goodbye.” He ended the call and tossed his mobile to the control dash with a dissatisfied grunt.

“He got to her, too?” Bill whispered.

Tom's head rose. “Huh? No. She and her husband are out of the country on business, they should be back tomorrow.” He swallowed, looking young and scared. “I don't know if I can just do that, though, Bill. Ask her for money, a lot of money, when it's been such a long time since I've even seen her.”

"I understand," Bill rasped, hugging his knees forlornly tight. "So that's it, then."

Tom gave him a blank stare. "It?" he repeated, and shook his head until dreadlocks coursed over his shoulders. "No. No, Bill, no...no." There was a tinge of panic to his voice.

"But..." Bill trailed off.

"Come here," Tom entreated, swiveling his chair on its single stem and holding both hands out to Bill.

In a rush Bill was up and hurling himself across the unwanted space between them, which had seemed to grow with each unsuccessful visit to all of Tom's friends, forming a chasm of solitude between them. He took Tom's hands, cooperated when Tom drew him down into his lap, and made soft noises when Tom kissed his ear, pressing his mouth over Bill's jaw and cheek and seeking out his mouth at last.

"I'm not going to lose you," Tom said, low and fierce. "So let's run away, Bill. Just me and you, okay? We'll go so far that no one will ever find us."

Bill whimpered, nuzzling desperately close to Tom and wrapping his arms around his lover's neck and shoulders. "Can we do that?" He was stunned; the idea had never occurred, and he didn't even think it possible. He knew that the penalty for a runaway commodity was steep, but if he went with Tom, the noble to which he'd been sold...

"Will you?" Tom said, sounding stricken. He cupped Bill's face between his hands, aligning them together almost nose to nose.

Bill breathed deep. If there were consequences, they would have to make sure that they wouldn't get caught.

"Yes," he responded, covering Tom's hands with his own, kissing the palm nearest. "Yes, I'll run away with you. Of course."


	16. Last

Setting the flitter controls to home in on Interscope through the darkness, Tom switched the craft to automatic, held Bill in his arms, and prayed. After a few salty kisses streaked through with a few of Bill's brief tears, he recognized that wouldn't be enough for them and began to plan.

"How will we..." Bill started, and hesitated, his dark eyes questioning on Tom. "Could we go, leave from here, now? Not even return to Interscope, I mean."

"This craft is their property," Tom said, giving Bill a small headshake in response. "We have to return that, at least. If we set out without committing a criminal offense using something that could be traced after us, that would be a better start than, well." He shrugged.

Bill turned a charming shade of beet red. "I only thought of getting away as fast as possible," he admitted.

"It's okay," Tom said, catching at one of his hands and kissing it. "That's my instinct too, but when I started going over it in my head, a few problems with the reality of it cropped up."

"So what do we do?" Bill asked. He tucked his head against Tom's shoulder.

"We return the flitter, pack what we can of our things into cases..." Tom paused, stalling out. He could hire a craft on House credit, but that had the same problem as a borrowed flitter; it could be traced. He had no cash, as with most wealthy people their age. He wondered if there were any shady loaners circulating the gaming floor, with disposable, untraceable credit lines for sale. He could start there... “We'll go to ground level, see if we can flag down a car after I secure some untraceable credit and we'll just...we'll go. Transit center, tickets out of the country. You're _my_ Bill.”

“I'm yours,” Bill confirmed, nuzzling against him.

With a desperate gasp, Tom tipped Bill's jaw up, kissing him again and again. He couldn't lose this; it was unthinkable.

He held Bill and stroked his back until the craft had settled into its docking bay at Interscope. At last, reluctant, Bill climbed out of his lap and straightened his clothing.

“I didn't do any good at all, today,” Bill said ruefully.

“What are you talking about?” Tom questioned with an instant frown.

“I was hoping I could do something – help in some way to get someone, any of your friends, to give you a loan,” Bill confessed, eyes downcast. “But in the end, I guess I was pretty useless. I couldn't even serve tea.”

Tom's mouth twitched. “Well, that's because we were never really invited to sit down and have some,” he countered. They had filled up on snacks that had been distributed to them by House staff along their various stops, but at each turn, all of their so-called hosts had denied them the chance for hospitality. “You were my moral support today, Bill. I was the one who failed.”

“No, it's not--” Bill began, as the capsule door unsealed and rolled to one side. He broke off as they crossed the line back from private to public realm.

This evening, along with Padma, another man stood waiting. Tom's stomach descended as though stones had been cast into it as he recognized the man from the first night he'd been with Bill. It was Hoffman, the manager who had brought the financial contract.

“Good evening,” Hoffman's voice rang out as Tom drew near, with Bill hovering at a respectful distance at his right shoulder.

 _Is it_ , Tom wondered cynically, but was too polite to say so. “What can I do for you this evening, Mister Hoffman?” he asked, drawing himself up with all the height and dignity he possessed. He wanted to take Bill's hand, but recognized it as a move that could be perceived as weakness in its overt possessiveness, and held himself back.

“I'm here regarding your contract with Interscope,” Hoffman said with no delay. “I'm given to understand you are having difficulties meeting the obligations affixed to your imprint and acceptance of the contract.”

Tom's jaw tightened. Whether it had been his father or Bushido to tip off the luxury hotel, it didn't matter. The end result was the same. "It's a temporary problem," Tom began, furious that either one of the men could have tipped off Interscope, only now beginning to realize how thoroughly - and quickly - he'd been outmaneuvered. He could see the threat of contract dissolution in the manager's eyes.

"Your assets are frozen, Lord Kaulitz," Hoffman stated, his own eyes like chips of ice. "According to our financier, the hold comes from your Head of House. Given the circumstances..."

They were going to take Bill from him, the fright flared through all his nerve endings like a searing jet of lightning. "No," Tom blurted, mind working furiously to come up with something more tangible than 'you can't.' Unlike Padma beside him, the Interscope manager's expression was closed off, unsympathetic. He needed some kind of assurance. "It's a personal dispute, you know how fathers can be, angry that I overpaid even for something so pivotal as one's first commodity..."

Hoffman continued to look as though he was of a mind to dissolve Tom's contract with Interscope on the spot.

"This would be a great scandal for House Kaulitz, leaving a debt even partially unpaid for goods already rendered," Tom continued persuasively. Clammy sweat was breaking out on his palms. If this didn't work, he had nothing left. "I'm also consulting legal counsel to get my funds unfrozen. Give me a day."

Hoffman's uncompromising expression altered to one less certain.

"One day," Tom pleaded, now fixed on his plan of packing their things and taking Bill and stealing away into the night, someplace no one could find them. Someplace where slavery was abolished for the abomination that it was. "Give me one more day to resolve this, to make it good. For both of us. Please." He cursed himself for letting that last slip out - nobles like his father never used that word, even rarely amongst business associates of the same status.

Hoffman's expression altered to one of surprise before closing down into impassive lines. "One day," he echoed.

Tom sighed, dipping his head in defeat. He reached back for Bill's hand, figuring if he'd already shown what the stiff manager would deem as weakness, he might as well go all the way. Without hesitation, cold fingers slipped into Tom's grasp.

"All right," Hoffman declared, causing two sets of dark eyes to rise up and stare at him in surprise. "You have until tomorrow. On the strength of...your family name."

Effusive relief flooded every part of Tom with relief. He clutched at Bill's hand to prevent himself from springing forward and offering the man a comradely kiss that would no doubt violate five kinds of protocol, including Tom's personal dictates.

"Thank you," he began, aiming for sincere but fervent gratitude. "Mr Hoffman, I--"

"However," Hoffman interrupted curtly. "You'll understand if I require that your courtesan remain in the building."

Tom gaped. Either he was awfully transparent, or not nearly so crafty as he would have hoped. The thought that he really was too young to commit himself on a level playing field with adults, despite his newly of-age status, occurred. "I..." He tried to think of ways around that, while recognizing every exit of the building was monitored. With so much money at stake, they would be on the lookout every time someone left Tom's luxurious suite. He was completely outflanked. Bill's hand squeezed painfully tight in his, acknowledging that. "I understand."

Hoffman gave him a nod to the barest degree of civility. "Then have a good evening, Noble Lord, and good luck for the morrow." The man turned and strode off without waiting for a response.

Tom stood riveted in place for a long moment, his ears filled with the dull roar of white noise. At last, Padma's dulcet invitation to follow penetrated his consciousness. He put a questioning pressure on Bill's hand, invitation to follow and not command, and started off as Bill fell into step with him.

"Milord," Padma said at the door to their suite, having followed them up that far for the very first time. "I'm very sorry, I...I do hope your luck turns." She hesitated, eyes moving from Tom to Bill. Her flawless brow creased and she opened her mouth.

"Thanks," Tom said, exhausted. His last hopes were dwindling. He wondered if he'd spent all his luck on acquiring Bill, and had none left to keep him.

"David Jost," Padma said unexpectedly. "You might give him a try."

Tom's brow furrowed. A television journalist, no matter how affluent, couldn't provide him with much leverage this late in the game. "I'll keep him in mind."

Padma lingered a moment longer, her frown hovering, before bowing in preparation to withdraw.

The moment they were through the door, Tom locked it behind them, not even sure locks would prove to be a deterrent if Interscope came for Bill, and twined Bill into his arms. "You were right," he said brokenly. "We should have run, then. We shouldn't have returned here. We should have just gone, no looking back."

"It's okay, I'm here," Bill soothed him, arms going tight around Tom. "I'm still here; we're together. We're together..."

"For now," Tom said, burying his face against Bill's shoulder, inhaling deep to take in his scent, as though to imprint it in his memory. He nosed against the skin beside Bill's collar and placed tiny kisses there.

"We're working on it," Bill said fiercely. He stole cold fingers under Tom's shirt. "Tomorrow, you'll meet with Gustav..."

Tom shook his head; not to deny the appointment, but because he couldn't think about it now. He couldn't pin his hopes on one last thing when he had Bill in his arms. He couldn't let himself think these would be the last moments. Instead he nudged forward and kissed Bill on the lips. "Love you."

"Love you," Bill responded at once, gasping and kissing back. "Love you, Tomi, so much. Be with me? Love me, cover me; I want you on me, _in_ me..."

"Aren't you too...?" Tom pressed, trying to ask without asking, rubbing a hand down Bill's back and resting it high on his ass.

Bill shook his head, fingers strumming up Tom's sides. "It doesn't matter," he said, kissing Tom's mouth, tracing over his lip ring and closing in on it with soft nibbles. He pulled back to pin Tom with the sincerity of his gaze. "I don't care; it is, a little, but I need to be with you that way. Want to feel you. I need to...the connection...I want it so much."

Tom understood. He wanted to be closer than close. He needed to be joined with Bill, their selves overlapping. Maybe then, the anxiety that consumed the core of him would be eased at last. "Bedroom?" he whispered, caressing Bill's back again.

"Yes," Bill whispered back. With a little hop against Tom's body he wrapped his legs around Tom.

By instinct, Tom caught and steadied Bill's negligible weight. He supported his rear and stumbled for the bedroom, kissing back where and as he could while Bill spread urgent kisses wherever his lips reached. He could catch fire from Bill's kisses alone; the desperate little noises as he nipped at Tom's jaw and mouth were an accelerant to his desire. He spread Bill out along the bed and covered him with his own body, kissing and stroking everything through his clothes.

"Want it," Bill said thickly against his tongue. "Want you." The words were indistinct but Tom had no trouble comprehending.

Tom hitched up to strip his own shirt off, tugging his dreadlocks free of the tie that had loosely gathered them at the nape of his neck. He began to fumble with the criss-crossing straps of Bill's top until his lover took pity on him, lifting up and loosening whatever fastenings had kept it secured, tossing it aside and leaving only the white dress shirt beneath.

That, Tom could handle. He opened Bill's yielding mouth under his tongue as his hands traveled down Bill's front, unraveling his shirt button by button.

Bill continued to make soft, anxious noises as Tom exposed his pale, narrow chest adorned with tiny nipples that were already tight for him. Tom groaned and kissed into Bill's plush mouth again and again, plying both stiff little crests with each thumb and forefinger as he rocked against the growing hardness of Bill's groin.

"Yes, oh yes," Bill whispered as Tom's kisses drifted down from chin and neck to his chest. A moan left him as Tom fretted his tongue against one tiny, dusky peach nipple before closing his mouth around it and sucking. "Ohh...ah, Tom!" With arms and legs he embraced him as though trying to become closer than close.

Tom used his tongue, outlining the little nub, giving teasing nips with his lips. Bill was writhing against him already, hands stroking over Tom's unbound dreads. Switching over to the other nipple to pay it the same lavish care, Tom plucked at the one he'd left with thumb and forefinger again, keeping it rigid.

A needy moan broke from Bill's throat. "More..." he pleaded. "More, Tomi, need you..."

Tom groaned in response, releasing Bill's nipple and stroking both hands roughly down Bill's sides. He couldn't help but strive to meet that demand. "More what, love?" He had to press another kiss to that crinkled-tight nipple.

"More Tom, less clothes," Bill begged, arching his back and bumping his hardness against Tom's stomach.

"Ohh," Tom said, releasing the pleasured noise on a slow exhale. He rubbed his tightening groin against the firmness of the bed in between Bill's legs. "I like that." He licked and nibbled his way to Bill's perfect navel, kissing that until Bill grabbed handfuls of his hair and pleaded with him to move on, move further down.

Tom did, sitting back on his heels as he divested Bill of first one boot, then the other; pulled off his socks and trousers and drew off his undershorts to the eager rise of Bill's hips.

"Are you going to put it in me?" Bill asked, eyes wide and hopeful, lip bitten and breath-caught.

"Not yet," Tom whispered, feasting his eyes on everything he beheld, naked and splayed out before him. The thought that this could be their last time together intruded horrid and sudden, and Tom lowered himself to the bed and took Bill in his mouth, wrapping his lips around Bill's already-leaking erection to prevent the sudden spill of tears that threatened. Bill's taste was sweet on his tongue and the hard flesh glided smoothly to the back of his throat.

It was another act that Bill had been surprised to have Tom perform for him, having been schooled that it was more of a subservient act. Tom loved sucking Bill's dick and cherished the wanton moans that tumbled from Bill's lips as he sucked and licked his way up and down the hot length of him.

"Tom, Tom!" Bill cried out, bucking his hips enough to make Tom choke and draw back hastily. "Ohh...sorry, I'm sorry. I just, I need..."

The frustration in his voice was echoed by the fierce ache in Tom's groin. He was so hungry for it, the taste of Bill only intensifying his need to have more, to get into him, to work his dick into tight heat and open Bill up, connecting them on the most primal level possible.

"In me," Bill concluded, giving voice to their mutual need. "It's good, Tomi, I love it when you do that, but I...right now I want us to be joined."

"Okay," Tom said, his voice cracking. He crawled up Bill's body until he hovered over him, pausing long enough to spread kisses over that flushed, upturned face. The angle of Bill's nose made Tom want to kiss it, so he did that as well before rolling off to the side.

"Noo," Bill protested, reaching out for him.

"You want us to be joined, right?" Tom questioned, giving Bill's cheek a brief caress before undoing the snaps of his trousers and uncinching his belt. "I suppose I could do that through my trousers and boxers, but..."

"No, no!" Bill said, shaking his head vigorously. He sprawled out on his side and sneaked a hand over Tom's thigh, reaching for the bulge in his undershorts.

"Nng." Tom tipped his head back, reminding himself to reach for the lube on the bedstand before he lost focus completely.

"I want to suck it," Bill said contemplatively, flicking the sensuous curl of his tongue over his top lip. The bead of his stud winked at Tom.

"Oh, gods," Tom said, hoarse. "I want to; I mean, I want you to, but...later, all right? If you suck it, I don't think I'll last...and, I want to..." He trailed off, hardly able to voice the desire to climb on Bill and mount him and drive into him for ages, wanting nothing more than to join their bodies again and again. Stay in him forever, even unto the point of soreness for both of them.

"Yes," Bill rasped, sounding needy again. "Tomi, I want it. How do you want me?" His hand stroked over Tom's bare thigh.

Tom's eyes hazed almost shut as he thought about it, all the ways they had done it, what had felt so good for both of them, and what he wanted most right now. "Let's start with you on your hands and knees, okay? I want to get you feeling really good. Then we'll flip you over and I'll screw into you nice and slow when you're about to come..."

Before Tom could even finish his sentence Bill was twisting lithely onto his stomach, gathering his legs beneath him and kneeling up. He reached for the headboard and cast a coy look over his shoulder. "You want me like this, Tomi?"

Tom shuddered, reaching a hand out for that perfect ass. The way Bill was arching his back it put everything on display: the delicate waxed crack with the sweet puckered hole that made Tom want to lick and suck it until Bill was ready to yield for more, and the curve of his drawn-up sac with his engorged erection swinging stiffly between his legs.

Bill cried out softly as Tom swiped a dry finger around the burning flesh of his tight little hole. "Tomi, yes, yesss..." he hissed. "Are you going to...what are you doing?"

Tom licked his lips and considered going down into Bill's crack, but knew for sure he wouldn't last. He uncapped the lube and stroked a glob directly in the cleft, adding more and testing Bill's resistance with a finger as Bill tipped his pelvis to open himself to Tom even more. He groaned as his finger slid in, gripped at once by an incredible yielding heat.

"Oh...ohh, Tom, please," Bill begged prettily. "Give it to me, now."

"I'll give you something," Tom promised, leaning down to kiss the bumps of Bill's spine. He passed his hand over Bill's back from shoulder blades to rear and pushed at him, checking to make sure he was braced well enough against the headboard.

The soft keening from Bill was driving Tom mad as he worked his fingers into the soft heat that seemed to suck him in, begging for more. He wanted so badly to get up behind Bill, push right in and establish the connection they both wanted so much, but he'd hurt Bill once with his eagerness and was determined to never do it again.

"More," Bill pleaded. "Your cock, Tom; please, I want it."

As Tom aligned himself behind Bill, biting his lip, one hand palming the sleek skin of Bill's ass, realization scorched him. One way or another, this was their last, whether here at Interscope, or... A low noise broke free of Tom's throat as he pushed the head of his cock past Bill's initial resistance. He had to struggle to hold himself there; Bill was so hot, squeezing tight around him without even trying. Tom stroked a trembling hand up Bill's spine.

"Yes," Bill breathed.

The pressure let up enough for Tom to move and he did, grasping Bill's hips for points of reference and entering him fully in a slow glide. They both gasped and emitted small noises of enjoyment as their bodies settled together. Tom pulsed his hips in little movements where he was seated and Bill gasped, tightening around him.

"More?" Tom wanted to make sure.

"Yes, ahh! You feel so good," Bill said, huddling against the headboard and thrusting his ass back at Tom.

Tom grunted as their bodies smacked together and his dick was gripped in that amazing, flexible heat. He could spend his life fucking Bill, the dazed thought passed through his mind, if life would let him. He drew back and his stomach tensed as he plowed forward, starting out with a jolting sort of rhythm. He had to adjust a few times, shifting on his knees to get closer to Bill, then pressing a hand to Bill's back to get him to tilt his pelvis and steepen the angle of Tom's entry.

When their bodies were fitted together just right, Tom thrust into Bill deep and fast. Bill cried out, hanging onto the headboard and sort of whimpering helplessly, flexing down around him. He gave out breathy gasps as Tom doled out intense strokes, and moaned with a little "yes" or a weak "there!" when Tom apparently hit his spot.

Tom kept Bill bent into that position when he found it, pounding away down into him with hungry thrusts of his cock until Bill was moaning continually and all but collapsing down against the pillows at the base of the headboard. He dragged Bill's hips up and groaned as he bore down from a superior vantage point. Bill screamed once before dissolving into inchoate "ahh...ohh..." noises.

"Good?" Tom panted. "Too much? Bill, tell me what you need."

"Just you," Bill said, his head lolling on the pillow, black hair a mess. "Ahh...ah, Tomi, I'm close. Turn me over."

This time it wasn't a request, it was a demand. Tom grinned and flexed his hips, giving Bill a few more short, urgent thrusts before resting there a moment, grasping his hips. "Mmm." He wanted to collapse full-length along Bill's back and just...stay there. The two of them connected forever, conjoined.

An odd thought swam up from the recesses of Tom's sex-addled brain and he brushed it aside. To be that close to Bill...

"Closer," Tom breathed, barely aware he was speaking.

Bill wriggled beneath him. "Tomi, Tomi," he chanted.

It was truly an effort of will to withdraw his cock from Bill when all Tom wanted to do was push it back in again, and again. And some more for good measure. He gritted his teeth and did, though, watching with fascination as the head slipped free of the tight embrace of Bill's body. He couldn't believe that little part of Bill stretched so readily for him.

In a flash, Bill was turning around, his legs parting wide as he slid down until his butt touched Tom's thighs. “In me, Tomi, back in me. Please?”

Tom could only groan, line himself up, and push right back in again. He hovered over Bill on his hands, dipping his hips to join their bodies fully once more. He watched the way Bill's lashes fluttered, the adorable way teeth caught at his lower lip, and the stretch of Bill's graceful neck as Tom gave him a slow thrust.

“Ohh,” Bill uttered, hands coming up to grab at Tom's upper arms. He didn't ask for a kiss, but his mouth begged for it and Tom lowered his head to comply. His dreadlocks lowered in a ragged curtain around them. Tom joined their mouths again and again, rocking into Bill a little faster now, sure of their fit.

“Can you come?” Tom groaned, brushing his lips over the nearest part of Bill – his chin, that captivating mole situated just so. He was tingling, his whole body tightening up, ready to enter the last flurry of thrusts that would bring him to climax, but he wanted Bill to come, too.

Bill's body squeezed him tight and his legs hiked up, catching over Tom's hips. “Yes, oh...ahh...” His exhalation spiraled up into an undignified squeak and his eyes went wide.

Tom grinned fiercely down at him as come spurted against his stomach; Bill's climax had taken him by surprise and that delighted him.

Tom sped up, still giving Bill gentle strokes until Bill squeezed down on him, _hard_ , possibly in the final throes of orgasm. At that point Tom lost it, plowing into Bill with ragged sloppy movements, hard and fast as he hadn't let himself before, until he tensed and reached out. Shuddering, he held Bill's face between his hands as he found release inside of him.

"Bill," he breathed, and meant to say 'I love you,' but Bill's eyes shone as though he had.

They lay tangled up together, hearts and bodies overlapping, breathing one another's air. Every time Tom shifted to disengage, Bill whimpered and wouldn't let go.

"Please, gods," Bill murmured, as their breathing slowed to a normal rate. "Please don't let this be our last."

Tom buried his face in Bill's neck and searched his frantic mind for answers, any hint of an idea to unlock their closing dilemma, finding none.


	17. The Truth That Divides

Bill woke with a sense of despair so strong it was bitter as ash in his mouth. He began to whimper, even, like a child caught up in the murky undertow of a terrible dream until he saw Tom's lashes flutter, and silenced himself. They had been given a day, and this was it. Bill didn't want to spoil a single moment.

As Tom stirred, rising toward wakefulness, Bill nestled the curve of his arm and watched Tom's eyes flutter, admiring every line of Tom's face, watching each small twitch of mouth or nose, enraptured. This was his love, warm in his arms. His heart sang; it ached with keenness fit to cut him. Bill knew he would carry this emotion all his life, regardless of what came next.

When Tom's eyes opened at last, blinking sleepily over at Bill in the wan light that overlapped their tangled bodies, his mouth curved in a sweet smile.

"Bill," he said, suspended in the first moment of awareness before memory returned. He reached out with a hand to frame Bill's face. His brow creased and anxiety flooded his expression in the next instant. "Bill, my Bill."

Nodding, Bill enfolded Tom in his arms, tucking their bodies together closer than close.

"It's not fair," Tom said against his ear. "They have no right. You're a person, you're not chattel. You belong to yourself."

"I belong to you," Bill corrected, lifting a hand to press against Tom's bare upper chest. "You have my heart."

"And your mouth," Tom murmured, leaning forward to place a warm, heavy kiss on it. He dotted a kiss on Bill's nose. "And your nose..." He drew back, frown settling into place again.

"I have _your_ heart," Bill said, assured of it. He grinned and raised his hand to Tom's, matching them along the flat sides, palms to fingertips. "And your hands..." He stretched to kiss the contoured shell of an ear half-hidden behind masses of dreadlocked hair.

Tom was looking at him with a new expression, some emotion Bill hadn't seen on his face before. "My ears," he said in an odd tone. "You have my ears." He looked from Bill's face to the hands Bill had matched up in perfect alignment.

"Tomi?" Bill questioned.

Without warning Tom ripped away the bedclothes, taking his hand from Bill's and giving him a push, rolling him onto his back. Bill was too startled to resist and said nothing as Tom examined him with a dreadful intensity, gripping his wrists, running a hand over him from neck to navel, kneeling beside him and touching Bill's flaccid cock, then his own; lining up their legs and looking back and forth between them.

"What is it?" Bill demanded, shaken. Had Tom somehow decided he couldn't love him anymore? He sat up, trying to put his arms around Tom.

Tom reached a hand up, keeping Bill at bay, his expression still focused as though he were seeing beyond Bill somehow. "You have my everything," he said, sounding distant. "My hands. My face. My feet." He touched the mole at the corner of Bill's mouth, then touched his own, on his right cheek.

"We're brothers, aren't we?" Bill said. He shifted closer to Tom on the bed, scared now that Tom would pull away. Was the realization hitting him only now, on some kind of delay? He whimpered unconsciously in response to the thought that Tom might not want him after all, because of it.

"My funny ears," Tom continued, as though he hadn't heard Bill. "The same. Everything is the same."

"Because we're--" Bill began, frowning.

"Twins," Tom interrupted. "We're not similar, Bill. We're identical. Twins. It makes sense now..."

"No, it's not possible," Bill said, watching Tom's expression grow shuttered, distant.

"...it never seemed right that he was so outraged, so adamant that I wanted you," Tom said. He pulled away, staring out over the foot of the bed and bringing his knees to his chest, leaving Bill cold and alone. "If we were only half-brothers...if he'd sold a son by a concubine into slavery, that's a slap on the wrist, a fine."

Bill quaked, too scared of where Tom was going with this line of thought to reach for the sheet, even, to drape himself in a protective shroud. "Tomi..." His voice was a bare whisper.

"But if he sold his noble son into a life as a commodity..." Tom trailed off mid-sentence and flicked those intense brown eyes at him.

Shaking his head, Bill wrapped his arms around his skinny chest. "I'm not," he said weakly, but he was looking at Tom's body with new scrutiny. He saw sameness all over, and very little difference. Mole placement. Tom had a touch more muscle. Their faces, too...they _were_ identical.

"When is your birthday?" Tom asked outright.

Bill's face burned. He didn't want to answer, but he couldn't deny Tom anything. "September first," he replied, searching Tom's face for clues as to whether that was the right answer.

"Mine too," Tom replied, his dark eyes closing for a long moment. He swallowed. "Gods. What kind of...I can't..." He rolled to the edge of bed and climbed out, donning his undershorts and striding out of the bedroom.

Bill laid his head against his knees and wanted to cry, but had nothing in him, only a staticky numbness.

He could hear Tom moving around in the outer room, rummaging with something. He heard something thump; there was a curse, followed by silence. At last, Bill got up and rose from the bed. He scrubbed at his eyes, still dry but caked with makeup that he'd worn the night before and forgotten to wash away. He took a few deep, trembling breaths, pulled himself together, and climbed out of bed.

His need to be with Tom, to make sure that everything was all right, outweighed the thought that giving him space might be the most prudent thing to do at this time.

He grabbed a robe, pausing in the mirror to wipe his makeup from his face and splash his overheated skin with some cold water. Bill wondered how his happiness had gone, fled like the sun chased by a pileup of clouds. It wouldn't be forever, but his warmth was absent. 

He should still be happy, he thought, belting the robe tightly around him as though the tissue-thin fabric was his armor. He wrapped his arms over his front and sought the outer rooms at last. Twins, closer than brothers.

It was too much to take in.

Tom was bent over his mobile on the couch. His bare shoulders were hunched, his arms propped on his knees as he focused on the display. He flinched as Bill reached out for him, touching his shoulder.

It was Bill's pedigree, he realized from the quick glance he'd gotten before Tom pressed a button, darkening the screen.

"We have to get out," Tom said, rising from the couch and tossing the mobile to one of the cushions. "We need to get you out of here, before Hoffman...no, before Bushido comes." His mouth twisted.

"What's going on?" Bill demanded, looking into Tom's face, but Tom was frowning, looking past him. "What did it – that was my pedigree, right?"

"Yeah," Tom said. "You came from House Kaulitz, sixteen years ago. Sold to a pleasure house, best of all possible slave fates. To be a _commodity._ " He spat the word so venomously that Bill started.

"Tom..." Bill began, dazed by it. He stood rooted to the floor as Tom blew past him, hurrying for the bedroom once more. He wanted to pick up Tom's mobile unit and look for himself. Was Tom thinking of running?

Bill sucked in a breath as horrible realization dawned again. He was living proof that Jorg Kaulitz had sold his own son, his noble son, into slavery. He was lucky to be _alive_. The Head Noble could never have anticipated that Bill would grow up to attract Tom's eye, to return to the one place where his presence might raise questions...

It could ruin the House, Bill thought with detachment. At the very least, Lord Jorg Kaulitz could be jailed.

He shivered and sank onto the couch as his knees gave out. It was no great leap of logic, then, to understand why the Head Noble would try to block Bill's sale to his son at all costs. Why he was trying to facilitate Bill's transfer into the hands of someone who seemed near as determined to have Bill as Tom had been, himself.

"Tomi," Bill whispered, and now his eyes burned. Where Tom had been turned on by the thought that they were half-brothers, could he ever want Bill again; touch him again, knowing that they were not merely of the same issue but had shared a womb – that there was no closer blood than they? He and Tom, but for a twist of fate, could have been the same person.

In moments, Tom returned to the outer rooms fully dressed, shrugging into a heavy over-shirt that had geometrical patterns, gold and silver over a field of white and red.

"Tom," Bill said, getting up from the couch and stepping quickly. He had to know. He had to find out right now whether Tom still wanted him, or not.

Inhaling sharply, Tom evaded him and hurried for the couch, scooping up his mobile unit and stuffing it into his pocket.

"Tom, please!" Bill begged, trying to wind his arms around Tom, to lay his head on the other boy's shoulder.

Slipping out of his grasp, Tom stepped out of reach. He sounded distracted when he spoke. "I have to...I just...I have to go. Give me a...I'll be back, just..."

The door closed with utter quiet behind him, leaving Bill to stare in dismay, trying to hold himself together in the shattered fragments of his dreams.

* * *

Tom stared at the wall of the lift and tried to fathom how his own father, how his own flesh and blood, could have done something so monstrous. His Bill. The love of his life was the brother he'd never had, the one who should have grown up beside him. He palmed his aching forehead and it wouldn't make sense, no matter what angle he approached it from.

"Did you know?" his inquiry pierced the uncomfortable silence of the lift.

Padma shifted beside him. "Know what, milord?"

"Did you realize that we're...that Bill and I..."

"I noticed a resemblance, milord," Padma admitted, keeping her head lowered, her hands clasped behind her. "Especially last night. Such long faces, each of you. It made the similarities that much greater. Yet...it wasn't my place to say."

Tom flinched as though she had struck him. It had been his place to notice, he knew. He hadn't merely slept with his own brother, or half-brother – a titillating fantastical notion for someone who'd thought he had never had one. Tom had, quite literally, slept with his other half.

He was, he thought, still in shock.

Tom knew there were things he should do – call his mother, for one, to verify for certain. There was still a chance, however slight, that this could all be some dreadful coincidence. Perhaps his father truly _had_ begotten a child of a courtesan... Tom shook his head. He was grasping for the thinnest of improbable chances.

Instead of dealing with that now, he moved forward with what had been scheduled for his day. The other route, the last, most desperate chance to save Bill – he had a meeting with Gustav today, one that had been postponed. He was still reeling.

"This can't be real," he said aloud.

"Milord," Padma said, her voice quiet.

Tom shook his head slightly, staring down at the tops of his shoes. How had it come to this? What had been going through his father's head; how could he even...

"Tom," Padma said, with more force to her voice.

With a twitch, Tom looked up, his eyes wide, wild. "Yes? Oh." They had reached their exit floor.

Padma guided him from the lift, her face sympathetic before she resumed her leading position. After they had gone several paces in the empty hallway, she stopped, turning toward him without quite raising her gaze to meet his.

"Milord," she said. "You seem troubled."

"Wouldn't you be?" Tom snapped, clenching both fists. "I just found out my...Bill...he's..."

"If it's love, it's worth holding onto, isn't it?" Padma said.

Tom inhaled, clenching his teeth hard enough to grind. "That's the other thing," he said. "That's why I need to go, I need to make that appointment with Gustav. See what my options are – or if I even have any."

Padma lowered her head in a nod and resumed the path up the corridor. "Then we'd best get you there quickly."

The fact that he was allowed to check out a flitter that day and leave Interscope came as something of a surprise, and a relief. He bid Padma farewell and boarded the craft, collapsing into the chair hard enough to make the stem bow beneath his weight. It wasn't the same as the one he and Bill had used yesterday, or the day before, but he could still picture Bill in his arms, here in the craft with him. He groaned, all but slumping over the controls before he powered the craft up and guided it out of the docks.

Tom didn't have time for a breakdown, and he most certainly had no time to waste. He had so little time left.

If he could get the money today, if he could prove to Benzner he had the right to his own property, then it would all be resolved in one stroke. He could buy Bill, and perhaps that would prove to his father there would be no repercussions.

He knew Bill would want to stay by his side, always.

It took longer than Tom remembered to pilot the craft from the golden spire to the suburb areas where Schafer's offices were located. He switched the flitter to autopilot mode and put his head in his hands, reduced to praying again.

Rousing when the craft warned him of impending arrival, Tom checked the controls and the view through the forward windscreens. He sat back in his chair and retrieved his mobile, trying to phone the Trümper estate yet again, learning that he was an hour or so early for his mother's expected return. He glanced at the empty seat beside him and guided the craft into a parking space.

There was no walk in with Bill that day; no admiration of the crisp afternoon, the landscaped scenery. Head down, hands tucked in his pockets, Tom hurried up the walk to Gustav's building.

"Milord," Lydia greeted him in the outer office. "You're early for your appointment, very--"

"Is he available?" Tom interrupted. "I'm sorry, I understand that, but circumstances have changed. I have less time than I'd thought. Interscope cut down my time--"

Lydia bowed her head and toggled a switch on her desk, murmuring softly into a hush mike.

After a moment, the door to the inner office swung open.

"Milord Tom," Gustav greeted him, expression mild as he reached up to adjust his square, black frame glasses. "I'm sorry to have rescheduled yesterday's appointment."

Tom nodded, rubbing his hands together, devolving to rubbing the tips of his fingers against his thumbs, and easing his hands against the tops of his thighs as he followed Gustav into the book-lined inner office. He scratched at his nape, working his fingers into the soft hair that curled up into the mass of his dreadlocks. "It's fine, we...we made a lot of house calls yesterday. I was trying to find someone willing to float me a loan, anything..."

"Ah," Gustav said with a nod. He ushered Tom through the door and closed it behind them. "A good idea."

A useless one, Tom didn't want to say. "What have you got for me?"

"Care for a seat?" Gustav invited him, gesturing for the chairs, the couch. He walked toward the battered armchair and stood beside it, crossing his arms.

"I don't think I could," Tom said, pacing for the far side of the room and giving the couch a glance. He'd sat there with Bill, enjoyed the warmth of their hands entwined. "Tell me...what have you got?"

"Well..." An uncomfortable expression crossed Gustav's face. "That was perhaps why I was wondering if you'd like to have a seat."

Tom widened his eyes at the lawyer. "No," he said.

"Excuse me?" Gustav prompted with a slight frown.

"No, I can't take any more bad news," Tom said, managing by a narrow margin to not cover his face with his hands in a despairing but heartfelt gesture. "Gustav...just...hit me with it. I'm running out of time, options, and I'm desperate...if I could have, I was planning on running, with Bill."

"Oh, no, I don't...I wouldn't recommend an illegal course of action..." Gustav began, standing up a bit straighter.

"I'm out of money," Tom said. "I'm out of time. And I have a feeling you're about to tell me more bad news."

The discomfort on Gustav's face increased. "I'm very sorry, milord."

"Tom, call me Tom," Tom said with a wave. "I don't even...so there's no hope?"

"I'm sorry," Gustav repeated. "I've gone through volume after volume of property law and precedent, some vids that I thought might be helpful...even commodity law, which is not my specialty, on the off chance there might be some ruling that would allow, seeing as you signed the contract--"

"Nothing?" Tom whispered, his knees buckling. He leaned against a bookcase.

Gustav pushed up from his chair, arms still folded. "Tom...perhaps you should sit down."

Tom nodded and sought out the nearest chair, dropping into it with a thud. He considered putting his head between his knees. His breathing was quick, high. The walls were closing in on him.

"I can't find any legal means for you to unfreeze your assets," Gustav told him, taking the seat beside him. His dark eyes were alert, sincere. "I've looked at every means. There's no way it could be done in time in order to redeem your claim on Bill."

"Damn the fates," Tom said, low and hoarse. "This isn't right. I can't...not now that I _have_ him..."

"Would you like a drink?" Gustav asked quietly.

Tom rubbed his hands over his thighs, glancing up at the lawyer with a wry smile. "A little early in the day, isn't it?"

"For your nerves," Gustav said. He gestured to Tom's lap.

Tom looked down and regarded his hands. They were trembling. "Yeah...fuck...yes, okay."

As Gustav moved around the room there was the clink of bottles, the swirl of liquid within containers. He returned with two glasses half-full of amber liquid and reclaimed his seat as Tom stared across the coffee table at the deserted couch.

"You're having a very difficult day," Gustav observed, tipping his glass up but not proposing a toast. "I apologize for having contributed to it in this way..."

"You don't know the worst of it," Tom said with a groan. He took a swallow and grimaced at the burn of hard liquor. "What I found out about my father...about Bill..."

Gustav leaned forward on his knees, his expression inquiring.

Tom raised his glass for another fortifying swallow, then began to tell the tale.


	18. Repossession

After huddling on the couch in his sheer robe for a long, doleful while, Bill pulled himself together and ordered food through the hospitality service. He wasn't allowed to leave, but he was allowed to eat, at least. He ended up drinking plenty of hot, sweetened coffee with cream and pushing items around his breakfast tray without putting anything in his mouth.

Tom had left with barely a word, and Bill was frozen now in a hellish kind of limbo. He had no mobile unit, no means of contacting Tom – he realized he didn't even know his lover's personal sequence. Bill wanted to know if Gustav had any solutions. He wanted to know if they would be safe, or whether they were going to try to run after all, as Tom had implied.

He wanted to know, especially, if Tom still wanted him.

That was most important of all. He could take running, possibly getting caught. So long as he was with Tom, he could take whatever hardship came. If Tom _wanted_ Bill to be with him.

He drifted back to the abandoned bed with its messy tangle of crimson sheets. Bill ended up crawling back in bed, wrapping both arms around the pillow that Tom had been using and laying his head on it, and his knees. The scent of Tom's hair, his skin, filled Bill's nostrils and he breathed deep, trying to calm himself.

The tears wouldn't come, and Bill's eyelids grew heavy with waiting. He dropped off into a light, uneasy sleep.

A rapping noise made Bill jerk, realizing that his eyes had fogged shut. He hadn't been alert, he had actually _fallen asleep_ , and he was waiting for Tom...

Tom wouldn't be knocking on the door.

Bill groaned, placing the pillow back in its position at the headboard and thumping it a few times, smoothing it out in the next instant with penitence. He cinched his robe tight around his body again and climbed off the bed, apprehension swirling in his stomach.

He jumped and froze in place, cocking his head to one side as the knock at the door came again. Was it Padma, perhaps bringing word of Tom? Curiosity drove him forward, overcoming the fear that knotted his stomach.

"Bill," someone called through the door when he was near, making him jump again. It wasn't Padma's dulcet feminine tones but lower, deeper – a man, sounding brisk and efficient as he continued, "I know you're in there, and I have an override key for the suite. I'm coming in."

Stunned, Bill could do nothing more than stand there as clicking noises confirmed the truth of that, and he watched the door retract before his eyes. He was torn between backing away, possibly trying to barricade himself into the bedroom, and standing his ground.

Manager Hoffman swept into the suite, glancing around as though looking for something before fixing his eyes on Bill and striding toward him. He had a mobile unit in his hand and beyond his shoulder, the broad-shouldered, taller figure of Bushido was visible. His dark eyes were intent and his mouth tugged in a faint smile as he locked gazes with Bill.

Backing up a few steps, Bill demanded, "What's going on here?" His voice shook.

"Mind your place, commodity!" Hoffman rebuked sharply.

Bill stiffened and bowed his head into a subservient posture, following the order automatically. He was bound, now, to remain silent until invited to speak. Confusion buzzed through his veins, white noise crashing down on him. It was too soon; Tom was gone. They hadn't even gotten a full day.

"This will make it easier, with Lord Tom gone," Bushido commented.

The manager made a noise of agreement. "Once I received word from Head Lord Kaulitz assuring me there would be no reversal of fortune for Lord Tom, I was mindful of your offer and contacted you at once. It's very generous of you, paying the majority of his cost – it was a high one, and he is no longer chaste."

Bill took in a quick breath, almost a hiss, and bit his lip. They were going behind Tom's back, again – counting on his honor to leave Bill at Interscope as he'd promised, the men had worked together to take him from Tom entirely.

With a low moan, he broke away as the two men closed in on him. He ran through the suite like a hound-startled deer searching for cover, pausing by the bed to scoop up clothes, stumbling and going to one knee. He spotted something half-obscured by the crimson skirt that edged the bed and his eyes widened. He scooped that off the floor, too, and bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it.

"Don't be difficult about this, Bill!" Hoffman called through the door, sounding sincere rather than angry, as Bill had expected. "Interscope has assumed the debt for your price, and Lord Tom cannot pay with his own funds, or any. Master Ferchichi has offered, so you have no other choice."

"You gave milord a day!" Bill called through the door, defiant. Upon hearing a shocked intake of breath, he tacked on with reluctance, "Master Hoffman, sir."

"It's no use, Bill," Hoffman said, sounding stern yet apologetic somehow. "I'm acting on the word of Head Lord Kaulitz, who has the legal right to gainsay his son's purchase. A purchase which he has not fulfilled, I must say."

"He's working on it, Master Hoffman," Bill protested, slipping into his things, wriggling into his trousers and zipping up. He was upset he'd been caught in a state of undress, on top of all the other various stresses of the day.

"We've consulted our legal department, Bill," Hoffman countered. "We have the right to do this. Come, now. The transfer of funds has already taken effect, and Master Ferchichi is here to take you."

"I'll just bet," Bill muttered under his breath. He pulled a shirt over his head, fluffed his hair up, and shrugged a blouse shirt over that, beginning to button it up.

There was a long moment of silence. Bill took advantage to sprint for the mirror, seizing a downed tube of lipstick and scrawling over the surface, printing out a last message to Tom in hasty script. He backed away from the mirror as the rapping started up again. Bill looked through the looping scribbles of his own lipsticked handwriting to his white face and huge eyes. He had barely a speck of makeup on his face, and for once he didn't care.

Bill firmed his jaw, his lips thinning as he assumed a determined expression. For the first time, he saw Tom without his lover standing beside him.

"It would be in your best interests if it did not reach the point where I was forced to have the door broken down," Hoffman said, rapping at the frame outside.

"No need," Bill said, summoning up every bit of his dignity, the poise with which he'd been trained. He flipped the latch and swung the door wide, drawing himself up to stand tall, though he lowered his head to the expected degree of subservience.

"At last," Bushido said, causing Bill to look up through his lashes. "The beauty emerges."

"You can't just reclaim me like a piece of furniture or a flitter, Master Hoffman," Bill stated defiantly. "Tom is still my master."

"It's too late for that, Bill," Hoffman told him, grasping hold of his upper arm as Bill stepped out of the bathroom.

Bill inhaled to steel his arguments, to dredge up any last bit of fight or resistance in him, or search for anything that would put off what was happening. It was some kind of nightmare. He'd woken in Tom's arms and everything had been perfect, for the thirty seconds until he'd remembered this was closing in on them.

 _But we're twins,_ , he wanted to say. If Bill was of noble blood as Tom claimed, they couldn't do this to him...could they? 

There was no proof. The knowledge did him no good. All it did for Bill was make him question whether Tom still wanted him anymore.

"Yes, milord," Bill said, toneless.

Hoffman released him, stepping aside as Bushido loomed near.

"Been chasing you all week," Bushido told him, sounding satisfied. "Persistence has its rewards, huh? Let's go." He put a hand to Bill's nape, guiding him toward the outer rooms.

Head high, eyes down, Bill followed Bushido out of the suite.

* * *

"Twins," Gustav stated.

Tom gave him a nod, leaning back in his chair and taking another slug of the amber alcohol that Gustav had doled out. 'Medicinal' indeed. His gut was burning, his eyes watering slightly, but his nerves did seem to be steadier.

"You're sure," Gustav probed.

"As sure as I can be without a tech report on DNA markers," Tom said, drumming his free hand over his knee.

"Good gods," Gustav said, staring into the middle distance. "And you purchased him. Your twin..."

"I didn't know that before I bought him," Tom said, instantly defensive. He had slept with his own twin, his flesh and blood – it was rare enough that it would be remarked upon in their society if word spread.

He'd bought Bill, slept with him, fallen in love with him...there was no going back now.

"No, I don't care about that," Gustav said at once, raising a hand as though to belay Tom's protestations of innocence. "I don't care if you slept with him. Don't you know what this means?"

Tom stared at him blankly. "I'm pretty sure it means I slept with my own twin brother."

"Aside from that," Gustav said, with the first trace of impatience Tom had seen from him yet.

"Well," Tom said slowly, "I suppose it means I could go to the authorities with this, but I'm afraid if I approach them with Bill cloistered at Interscope, my father might take desperate measures of some kind. If he's willing to go so far as to sell his own son – my brother – into slavery--"

"Not that," Gustav interrupted curtly, spreading a hand to stop Tom's rambling. "He's your _twin_ , Tom."

"Same birthday and everything," Tom agreed, dazed over that. The astronomic odds of his reuniting with Bill under these circumstances...perhaps his luck hadn't run out, after all.

"Twins are the same age," Gustav said, giving Tom a particularly piercing look.

"Yeah, so?" Tom prompted.

Gustav sighed and cast his eyes up. "You and Bill are twins. You're the _same age_. Neither of you can inherit over the other."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Run that by me...a little more...in Tom-speak, okay?"

"You're the same age," Gustav said patiently. "Even if one of you was born first, it's negligible. Legally, that is to say, as far as inheritance law is concerned, you were born at the same time, therefore you're both considered the heirs to the Kaulitz estate. Your father would have to split the estate evenly between both you and Bill."

"Oh," Tom uttered, his eyes rounding. "Oh, my father wouldn't stand for that. Building up the family estate has been his life's work – I mean, it's all he cares about. Improving the family standing, building up our assets to the point where House Kaulitz can join the ranks of High Nobles..."

Gustav nodded, lacing his hands together over one knee. "So he sold Bill into slavery to avoid splitting the estate?"

"He must have," Tom said, setting his drink down before he spilled it. "Gods, that's...it's utterly vile. Why didn't I know that, about inheritance law I mean?"

"It's only come up once or twice in the course of German history," Gustav told him. He sat up straighter, his dark eyes curious. "It's illegal to sell nobility into slavery..."

Tom produced a disgruntled noise. "Yes, but what good does that do me? The risk to Bill...not to mention, police agents would require some greater proof than simply my word."

Gustav opened his mouth, raising a finger.

As he did, the mobile in Tom's pocket began to buzz and bounce. "Would you excuse me?" he asked, already pulling the device from his pocket. "I'm expecting a return call from my mother - was going to ask her if I could borrow money to secure Bill's purchase, but now..." He trailed off, thumbing the mobile on at Gustav's nod and half turning to interpose his shoulder between them and provide the notion of privacy.

"Milord Tom," the velvety tones of Padma issued from the mobile, giving Tom a jolt.

"Padma? What's going on?" Tom demanded.

"He's been taken, milord," Padma told him. "Hoffman delivered him into Master Ferchichi's possession as of this hour."

"What!?" Tom exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Hoffman gave me the day!"

"I don't know about that, milord," Padma told him. "Whatever happened to change his mind, he's turned Bill over to House Ferchichi."

“He can't...but he _said_...damn it all!” Tom cried out. He was silent for a moment, working furiously at his lip with tongue and fretting teeth, until a soft murmur on the other side of the line recalled him to the fact that he was still connected to Padma. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“I'm sorry I could not do more, milord,” Padma spoke up, sounding truly regretful.

“It's done,” Tom said. “I appreciate your assist.”

He hung up the phone and stared blankly across Gustav's study. What was he to do? Every option had been taken from him, and now Bill, as well.

“Tom,” Gustav said, his quiet, forthright tone pulling Tom back from staring into the abyss.

He'd been contemplating a rather suicidal course of action; crashing the front gate of the Ferchichi estate, taking Bill by force, fleeing the country. He had to do _something_. Bill was not only his love, but his twin. He couldn't leave him in the hands of any man when it wasn't Bill's choice.

Tom hoped Bill would still choose _him_ , given the circumstances. It was selfish of him to long for it, and yet it was the only flickering hope he had left.

“I don't know what to do,” Tom confessed aloud. “Bill has been taken. He's gone to House Ferchichi.” He clenched his teeth, knowing all too well what would be expected there – and that Bill would cooperate. He had to; he'd been trained into it.

“Can you prove that you're twins?” Gustav prodded.

Tom sucked in a breath, considering. “I have his pedigree...it's not conclusive. I'd need more evidence. I suppose I could...” he trailed off with a frown, thinking hard on it. Taking the matter to the police wasn't necessarily the route to go, either. Tom knew for a fact that many high-ranking nobles such as his father had quite a few friends in the top echelons of the police agency, precisely to insulate against scandals such as this.

“Think on it carefully,” Gustav urged, his expression intent.

“All anyone would have to do is look at us,” Tom said, grasping his mobile in hand once more. There was a plain, makeup-free photo of Bill in his pedigree. He weighed the device in his hand and stood. "I can't go to the police. There's no way that would do any good. But there is someone else to whom I can apply to advance my cause."


	19. Gathering Allies

"You can talk now, you know," Bushido said, as he guided his personal flitter from Interscope's docking bay. The reflected light of the shining city exploded through the front viewscreens. "In fact, I prefer it if you do."

"I have nothing to say to you," Bill said, his tone icy. He turned to gaze out of a side port, his eyes watering at the unexpected brightness. Sun reflected from every surface; metallic and mirrored building faces, other craft in the sky, and coruscating electronic mosaics and advertisement displays. The flitter darted rapidly through sky traffic.

"Master," Bushido corrected, his indulgent tone becoming hard.

"You are not _my_ master, Grand Master Ferchichi, and I cannot acknowledge you as such," Bill said, breaking his resolution not to talk to the man for a second time.

"I acquired you through legal means," Bushido said. "Interscope had paid for you. Lord Tom hadn't - and he wasn't going to be able to. You're mine, beauty."

Bill clamped teeth on his lip and kept his mouth stubbornly shut this time. He couldn't lay any claim to nobility regardless of Tom's proclaimed revelation. If it were true, of course, he was free. No man had the right to own him.

He had no arguments, no proof, no hope. He wouldn't give Bushido the satisfaction of his tears.

"I bought another courtesan at the auction house," Bushido said, as though expecting Bill to be interested. "A woman; young, dark-haired. Not a virgin, but I'm not that interested in chaste lots. I prefer a bedmate who knows what to do with it when I give it to them." He gave a coarse laugh.

Bill gritted his teeth and caught sight of his flashing eyes in the window port across the way. He looked pale, furious. As though he'd do something desperate if given a charge-wand and an opening to strike.

"It's why I don't care that Lord Tom had you first," Bushido continued, either oblivious or immune to the hostile nature of Bill's silence.

"He's the only one who'll ever have me," Bill murmured, lips turning up in a fierce grin. He had his own back-up plan.

"What's that?" Bushido prompted. "Oh...an' you can call me Anis, by the way. In private, I mean. Bushido's my stage name, and 'milord' will do for when we're in public."

Bill tucked his legs up onto the chair with him and made no reply.

"Got me a girl, to replace one that I sold not too long ago," Bushido continued, undaunted by Bill's continued silence. "But I think I'm gonna have you in my bed a _lot_ more. Sweet gods, there's something special about you. Knew it the moment I laid eyes on you."

Bill hugged his knees and thought back on it; he recalled the uncomfortable charge that had gone through his body, the prickle of hairs rising on his nape. There was something undeniably sensual about the man, he couldn't dispute it. Yet there was also something, an undercurrent to his voice, his expressions, his very body posture that screamed at Bill to be wary.

"Glad my schedule's clear tonight," Bushido continued. "Though you're gonna look real good on my arm, beauty, at award shows and parties and such. Damn, you looked so fine the other night, in that peacock get-up! The way you're gonna look so good in my bed this evening."

Bill shivered. He couldn't help wondering, for a moment, what it might have been like if Bushido had won his final bid to begin with. What it might have been like to go home with someone else; someone, like Bushido, fixated on the physical, on refting his virginity away rather than making any emotional connection.

It could have been satisfying but empty, Bill decided at last. With that kind of hollowness at his core, what could he have fallen into, in time, trying to fill it?

"My last girl, I had to cut her loose 'cause she was doing too many drugs," Bushido continued. "Some of that's okay, especially at parties, but if you don't have a habit, don't start one now."

"Ugh," the noise left Bill involuntarily. He kept his face averted as Bushido chuckled.

"You must be clean, then," Bushido continued his one-sided conversation. "'S fine, but I'll probably slip you a little something at some point, either at a party or some all-night fuck session."

Bill curled up into a ball and tried not to dwell too much on waking with the still-flickering flame of hope that had been in his heart when he'd been in Tom's arms. He'd be together with Tom again, one way or another.

He was silent during the rest of the ride despite Bushido's best efforts to engage him in conversation, including increasingly lewd descriptions of what he wanted to do to Bill's mouth. Bill kept his face turned away and watched tall office buildings and multi-complex blocks give way to high-rise housing. The flitter swooped in for a blocky metallic-blue spire that offered a waterfront view.

"Hey," Bushido said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he engaged the yoke of the craft and took it in on manual. "No hard feelings, all right? So I'm not your first choice. But I'm gonna be something to you, so I'd like it if you would give me a chance."

Sure, Bill thought; those were all very pretty words to say, yet they danced around an uncomfortable truth. Bill didn't have a say in the matter. Unlike Tom, who'd taken him upstairs but had been willing to wait, to take things at Bill's desired pace, Bushido had made matters clear. He expected Bill to grace his bed sheets that night, and it wouldn't be for the simple pleasure of Bill's company.

Or so Bushido thought.

"Say something," Bushido ordered.

"I think you've made yourself clear, milord," Bill said, toneless. "I have nothing to say to you."

Bushido snorted.

The Grand Master lived in luxury high-rise quarters that occupied the top two floors of the building. Once he'd landed the craft, he stood and loomed over Bill's chair, waiting.

"Let's go," Bushido said, that gentle tone back again. He set a hand to Bill's shoulder.

Bill shrugged him off, bending lithely forward as he dropped his legs to the floor. His hair swept to either side of his neck.

"You've been marqued," Bushido exclaimed with some surprise. "That Kaulitz...he didn't waste any time."

Bill's face twisted and he thought for a dreadful moment that the hot prick in his eyes would well up, turn to tears and spill over. Tom's marque, the one he intended to wear the rest of his life. It could still turn out that way, if...

"Gonna have to get that lasered off," Bushido mumbled under his breath. He reached for Bill again.

Bill jerked away and got to his feet, arms huddled over his front.

"Come on, beauty, don't be like that," Bushido entreated in wheedling tones. "It's only, you're mine now, you know? I'm not gonna have you bear another man's marque, it's trashy."

Bill's lip curled. He kept his head down and followed Bushido from the flitter.

"Oh you are gonna be a handful," Bushido muttered, seeming equal parts chagrined and amused. "I'm gonna enjoy taming you into proper form."

Outside the flitter, Bill caught enough glimpses of his surroundings to take stock of a three-craft docking area that led into darkened hallways. They circled around an inner ring of the building and took a lift to an upper level. The lift opened onto a living room with a stunning view of the shining city, and a building across the way with a manmade waterfall cascading down its glittering facade. To the left, a man awaited with his head bowed. He wore a crisp white shirt over black trousers, and the insignia at his collar proclaimed him a commodity.

"My valet, Kirke," Bushido said with an absent wave of his hand. "Kirke, this is Bill, he's gonna be my new courtesan."

Kirke bowed, and murmured, "And where would sir like him quartered? We only have the one courtesan suite, and Lela has use of it."

"Uhh..." Bushido ran a broad hand over his close-cropped hair. "Do up the spare bedroom for him and we'll work something out. I'm expecting Bill to spend a lot of time in my bed over the next few days."

Bill swallowed, the lump in his throat making the action hard and dry.

"I'm gonna have a drink," Bushido decided. "Kirke, why don't you show Bill to my room?"

The valet nodded, beginning to move off. Before Bill could contemplate following or resistance, he was seized at the shoulder and spun to face the bigger man. Startled, his eyes flew up to meet Bushido's for the first time since the man had taken him from Tom's suite.

"Get changed into something more comfortable," Bushido said, his voice brusque. His dark eyes were searching and he hesitated over Bill for an instant as though he'd bend to kiss him.

Bill could only blink at him and, at last, nod. What else was he going to do? He could hardly kick the man in the balls and run - even if he did, he had no place to run _to_. He couldn't pilot a flitter, and he had no idea how else to get out of the high-rise.

Bushido gave him a nod, his lips curving faintly. He patted Bill's ass as Bill moved off.

Drawing in a breath, Bill gritted his teeth. Not much longer, he told himself. Again he found himself wondering if he'd have been so unwilling if this were all he'd known.

Useless speculation. His heart would only accept Tom, now. All unknowing, the construct of love had been formed until it was solid. To destroy it, the very supports of his heart would have to be struck, and he'd never survive the blow.

In following the valet to one side of the living room, he entered a white corridor. Bill glanced both ways and startled. To his right, the valet waited. To the left stood a woman with long, dark hair and eyes black with hatred.

"You may think you're his new pet," the woman hissed. "But by Kali, I'll make your life a living hell if you dare to think of replacing me. I'm his primary courtesan--"

"I don't care," Bill interrupted, giving the woman - it must be Lela - a sad, sympathetic look. "I won't be here much longer."

The woman looked puzzled, but offered no further venom as Bill moved to follow the valet, to make himself 'comfortable.' As though that were possible for him, now.

* * *

Tom was barely two steps out of the flitter before a smug Peter Hoffman was squaring off with him, waiting at the end of the docking area with his hands clasped before him.

"Mister Hoffman," Tom said curtly, intending to brush past the man, angry over the news that he knew the man was intending to deliver, rushed for the litany of things he had yet to do with the rest of his day.

"Before you return to your room, milord," Hoffman said, reaching out as though to catch at Tom's loose sleeve.

Tom unleashed a glare on him that made the older man falter, his smug look altering to one less sure of himself.

"Unless you're prepared to render me a service, stand aside," Tom said, flexing his hands into white-knuckled fists. It was beyond tempting to throw a punch. The man had violated his word to Tom; he had promised him the day, and the moment Tom had cleared the golden spire, Hoffman had gone behind his back and turned Bill over to another man.

Violence wouldn't do any good; it would damage his social standing. But it would certainly make him feel better.

"You're headed for your suite, and you should know we're dissolving the agreement for noncompliance on your part," Hoffman said, falling into step with Tom as he strode up the docking area for the corridor beyond.

"You gave me twenty-four hours!" Tom exclaimed, his fists clenching harder.

"I gave you until today," Hoffman said, raising his chin in a stubborn look.

"You're splitting it rather finely, Hoffman," Tom said. He ground his teeth as he entered the now-familiar hallway that would circle around the building with its wraparound view of the city and lead to a lift.

"You're too late, Lord Tom," Hoffman returned. "We received an affidavit from Head Lord Kaulitz that there would be no payment from House Kaulitz, consulted with legal counsel, and dissolved your contract."

"Without even notifying me--" Tom started, voice rising.

"We were within our rights!" Hoffman snapped. "It's done. The contract is severed. Bill has been sold, milord. Another offer came through, and he's been repossessed and handed over to that individual."

"Bushido," Tom said, coming to a hand. His arms actually trembled with the effort not to deck the manager who had betrayed him.

"It's not my place to disclose..." Hoffman began.

"Doesn't matter," Tom said, picking up his stride again. "You took my Bill away from me. When I was still in the middle of resolving the issues."

"You defaulted--" Hoffman started that line again.

"You'll regret this," Tom said coldly. "You may think you did the right thing, but you _had_ no right. Not morally. And I think you know that."

Hoffman's expression altered yet again, not rueful but less outraged. "It's a set of regrettable circumstances, to be sure. But you misled us, Lord Tom. You signed a contract indicating that you could pay, when apparently your father, Head Lord Kaulitz, had already informed you the sale would not go through."

"Is that what he told you," Tom said softly, his anger stoked all over again by this latest piece of news. "He had no right, either, Hoffman."

Hoffman assumed a stern expression. "According to the law, he does, milord."

Tom shook his head. "This situation is way above you," he stated. "You've made a terrible mistake, giving Bill away when you'd promised to give me time to resolve this. I won't be doing business with Interscope again, nor will I recommend it to anyone I associate with."

A thin smile graced Hoffman's features, unpleasant and cold. "Is that a threat, milord?"

"A firm resolve," Tom returned. "If you'll excuse me, then--"

"That's not all," Hoffman said, keeping stride with him as Tom broke into a long-legged walk. "Because you defaulted on your contract, the comp offer is rescinded as well."

"You're charging me for the suite," Tom translated, his jaw dropping.

"Payment due in full when you check out," Hoffman confirmed with another unpleasant twitch of his mouth.

Tom cracked his knuckles as he came to a stop beside the lift, noting that Hoffman flinched. It gave him a vengeful surge of glee. This man had arranged to give his Bill away without so much as a goodbye. No matter the plans Tom put into action that day, there was no telling when he'd see Bill again.

Or whether Bill would _want_ to see Tom.

"Fine, you've made your point," Tom said. "Send porters up to my room. I'm checking out." His House account should still be good for that much, and it would let Jorg think he'd won, for now.

Hoffman bowed and retreated as fast as protocol allowed.

Upstairs, everything was as Tom had left it, with the exception of Bill's absence. It was a blow painful enough that it was near-physical to wander through the suite collecting things that were Tom's, Bill's, stuffing them into cases with hasty, impatient hands. Tom had been running on pure anger since he had received Padma's call, and formed his plans. Now he was cast into despair again.

What if Bill didn't want him, knowing they were closer than brothers?

At the very least, Tom was determined to see that Bill had the right to choose for himself. He squared his shoulders and resumed packing, though his hands faltered over delicate and stylish items of clothing that he wondered if Bill would ever wear again.

He moved to the bathroom, scooping toiletry items into a bag with quick, haphazard sweeps. Tom glanced up into the mirror and was fixed in place.

"Bill," he breathed, reaching a hand up to touch the nearest thick flourish of reddish lipstick.

**Tomi, I'm yours forever. \- Bill** 


Tom's eyes pricked with unfamiliar damp heat. Even before leaving, Bill had managed to make sure he could have this much of an assurance.

"I love you, Bill," Tom swore aloud, not letting himself dwell on the prospect of taking Bill into his arms and whispering those words in person again. There was so little time. He had to be out of here as soon as possible, and he had two more stops to make.

He reached up to wipe the message from the glass and paused. He took out his mobile and recorded an image of it, first. His own solemn face stared back at him and Tom lifted a hand to the glass, his brow knitting as he looked closer, past the surface differences.

He saw Bill.

The knock on the door was startling, even though expected.

"Coming!" Tom called out. He reached up and rubbed the lipstick to a bloody smear with a hand towel. Cursing softly under his breath, Tom hastened to finish the last raze and sweep of bathroom items and hurrying to the main room again with the toiletries bag. He did a quick visual check, trying not to linger on the rumpled bed, the mussed red sheets, an afterimage of Bill beckoning Tom to join him imprinted behind his eyelids. He turned away to answer the door.

Tom grabbed his mobile as he strode through the front rooms of the suite. Timing was narrowing down to everything, and he was concerned that he hadn't yet received a call back.

"Padma," he said with some surprise as he answered the door at last. "I wasn't expecting to see you again."

She smiled at him, closed-lipped and rueful, displaying the emotional consideration of which Tom had wished that Hoffman might have shown an ounce. "I asked to provide you one last assist, my lord."

Tom cocked a brow at her. "You could 'assist' yourself right into House Kaulitz service in the future, if you're of a mind."

Padma smiled warmly at him as though it had been the first time someone offered. "I do appreciate that, milord."

"I appreciate all the consideration and discretion you've shown to me and Bill," Tom returned. He craned his neck to glance at the men beyond her, all wearing the Interscope uniform. "Porters?"

"For your belongings," Padma confirmed. "Will you be using a flitter service, or...?"

"You caught me in the middle of making arrangements," Tom said, lifting his mobile. "Hold on for one moment, all right?" His gut was tense. This was his last chance; if he failed now, he'd have to wait until tomorrow.

Under no circumstances did Tom want to wait for the next day.

Padma nodded and gestured the porters to wait just inside the suite's front door.

Tom took himself to the other room and put a call through to House Trümper again, speaking briefly with the house staff who confirmed that his mother was in residence, having just arrived.

"Tom?" Simone Trümper said with surprise. "Darling, it's been an age since I heard from you!"

Knees buckling with relief, Tom dropped to a seated position on the bed. "Mama...I'm sorry it's been so long," he began.

"Well, I did see you for your sixteenth, darling, but you were surrounded by quite a crowd," Simone said with a bright, open laugh.

It reminded him of Bill, and Tom found his eyes closing briefly. "Look, I'm sorry to bring this up out of nowhere, but it's important."

"Go ahead, darling," Simone said. She continued curiously, "It must be urgent, for you to have placed so many calls before we got back."

"Mama, when I was born...did you..." Tom fumbled with the right words. _Were_ there right words for this kind of situation? "We're...you had twins, didn't you." It wasn't a question, because he was already so sure of the answer.

"Why...yes," Simone said, drawing the two words out in slowness. "Yes, I did. I was told that the other boy was stillborn. It was a difficult labor, and both of you were wrapped up and carried away from me right away, both so tiny and somewhat premature. I remember that the second one didn't cry..."

Tom tried to speak and his throat closed up. He produced a raspy noise that didn't sound like much of anything.

"...Tom? Why are you asking?" Simone wanted to know, her voice very gentle.

Tom knuckled at one eye, shifting the phone to his other ear. "I found him, Mama," he told his mother. "I found Bill, and I need your help."


	20. The Truth That Sets Free

The dining area offered a panoramic view of the setting sun and the shining city set ablaze in hues of gold and orange, all of it chased by lengthening dusk shadows. Bill had no appreciation for the dramatic sight, nor for the mouth-watering aroma that rolled off the uncovered dishes arranged before him. Listless, he prodded a potato across his plate and kept his eyes downcast as Bushido kept up an enthusiastic running monologue regarding his upcoming music vid.

"—and you'd make a great twist to the visual story if we shot some scenes with you instead of a stock actress," Bushido said, waving his glass to punctuate the statement. "Hey. Hey, you should eat something."

"Don't want anything," Bill replied, toneless. He set his fork down on the intricate geometrical border of the plate.

"Come on, now," Bushido said. "You're skinny enough as it is, beauty. Can't have you wasting away on me."

Bill glared up through his bangs at the man, who chuckled softly.

"There's the fire I'd rather see," Bushido told him, setting his goblet to one side. He raised a brow and gestured to it, drawing Bill's attention to the fact that it was empty. When Bill made no move other than to stare at it, Bushido tapped the glass base with an impatient hand.

"Come on, don't make me wait all night," he said, his comment pointed in its expectation.

Inhaling slowly, Bill tried to dampen his surge of anger. He'd allowed himself to get so used to the way Tom had treated him over the past few days, he'd forgotten this was what he could expect from anyone else. He was no equal, here; he was a commodity, and Bushido made the line clear. He stood, reaching for the wine carafe.

Bushido snagged him around the waist with a strong arm as Bill retrieved it, bringing the carafe near to refill his glass.

"Nn—" Bill started, biting his lip before he could voice the 'no.' He was heavily conditioned against that kind of refusal.

"You really are beautiful," Bushido told him, tugging Bill against one thigh, causing him to sit more or less in his lap. His dark eyes were searching on Bill's.

"Thank you," Bill said, holding himself stiff. _I look like Tom, exactly like Tom,_ he wanted to say, and didn't. Twins. Part of himself could still not let himself believe it to be true.

It hadn't stopped Tom from leaving him, and so what good did it do him?

Bushido's gaze was level, unflinching. Bill met him stare for stare now, determined not to look away and thereby lose this silent contest of will. It wasn't merely dominance; the man was truly looking at him, making Bill wonder if he liked what he saw, or whether he was second-guessing his purchase. From the remarks that had been made at Bill's presentation before the auction, Bill had been wondering whether Bushido had _ever_ had a boy, or another man.

At last, Bushido ordered him hoarsely, "Pour." A furrow appeared between his brows.

Bill nodded, looking away at last in order to hold the carafe in the proper position. He was uncertain how to rule the outcome of their little match, and amused himself with declaring it a draw.

By the end of the evening, it wouldn't matter.

"Thank you," Bushido surprised him by saying.

Bill tried to draw away, but Bushido's arm remained in place, keeping Bill secure against his side. Bill struggled with it a moment in passive fashion, trying to squirm this way and that.

"Hey, if you're not going to eat, may as well have a seat here where I can enjoy you not eating," Bushido told him.

Bill went lax with an internal sigh.

"Come on," Bushido said, patting Bill's thigh. "Don't give me that long face. We're gonna get to know each other _real_ well, real soon, got it? And you'll see it's not all bad, beauty."

Bill glanced over at him, sulky and dubious. Bushido didn't get it. He didn't think any amount of explaining would bring across the point. He wasn't simply attached to Tom; he wasn't pouting, he wasn't playing coy. He intended to make sure Tom would be his only master, if anyone could lay claim to the title.

"Hey, now. Come here," Bushido murmured, appearing to mistake the look for something else. He shifted his grip on Bill, bringing his hand up to the base of Bill's skull and reeling him in until the barest distance separated them.

Bill turned his head, forcing Bushido's lips to land on his cheek.

"Stop that," Bushido said, his voice stern again. "You've been a bit of a handful and I like it, fair enough, but you don't get to do that."

"Kirke is right over there," Bill whispered, finding something, anything to fix on which would explain his reticence in terms that Bushido would accept.

"Beauty, is that all?" Bushido rumbled, sounding hugely amused. "All right..." He stood, dumping Bill off his lap and twining that arm back around Bill's shoulders when Bill righted himself with a wobble.

"I thought...but dinner..." Bill said, abruptly dry-mouthed. He wasn't ready. It hadn't even been an hour since they had sat down to dinner.

"You're not going to eat, and I can eat after," Bushido said.

It made his intentions more than obvious and Bill stifled the childish urge to whimper. He was a man now, and he was going to have to get through this without Tom. He could say he didn't want to until his voice was gone; Bushido was large and strong enough to force the issue.

He lowered his head in seeming compliance as Bushido's hand locked around his wrist, drawing him along toward the side corridor that led to the bedroom.

Bill hadn't been given the opportunity to grab any of his things before Hoffman and Bushido had hustled him out of the suite he'd shared with Tom, but upon arriving in Bushido's personal suite, there had been clothing items laid out in Bill's size. The extent to which the man had gone, the confidence implied in those displayed garments, had been enough to fluster Bill. _"You don't even know me,"_ he had wanted to accuse Bushido; _"I'm no better than a piece of furniture to you!"_

The bedroom had another stellar view; this one faced the city interior, and the oncoming darkness of night rendered it into a field of storm-heavy blue sky speckled with the strung-out jewels of thousands of lights. Each was like a chip of diamond or some other pale gem winking against dark velvet. Bill couldn't enjoy the view; couldn't do anything but worry, trying to push the sick sensation in his stomach down far enough for him to be able to function. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in hours, not since his mournful breakfast, but he couldn't let himself.

"Now, come here," Bushido invited, seating himself on the bed and tugging Bill close, wrapping both arms around his waist until Bill was standing close between his legs, looking down into the intense gaze that had challenged him since the first instant their eyes had met. "This isn't bad, yeah?"

Bill wrinkled his nose up, not deigning to reply.

Bushido frowned at him. "You weren't near so unwilling first time we had words," he said, sliding a hand low on Bill's back, his fingers pressing in with firm pressure. "I coulda bought you then, if that Martin hadn't been greedy to take in more than he could be sure of getting. C'mon, now. I'll make it good."

Bill bit his lip, squirming as Bushido's ticklish hold on him moved down past his lower back, skidding over unyielding material to cup at his rear.

"What's going on?" Bushido said, brow knotting. He cupped at Bill's bottom harder, feeling him up.

However, Bill did not feel it.

Bill smirked over at Bushido as the man ran both hands over Bill's ass, tracing out the shape of it, and the distinct lines of what covered it.

"Strip," Bushido ordered him with a thunderous frown.

Beginning to step away, Bill put his hands to his top as though he'd misunderstood. Bushido scowled at him and seized him by the waistband of his pants, jerking him closer by a half a step.

Bill was hard-pressed to conceal a triumphant smile as Bushido all but tore his pants open, clearing the zipper so hard he jammed it, swearing, and pantsing Bill by grabbing the thighs of his trousers and yanking them down.

"What the hell is this!?" Bushido exclaimed, his eyes on Bill's discreetly-covered, completely inaccessible groin.

"I know you don't like chaste lots," Bill said, all demureness. "But I thought you'd recognize a chastity belt, surely?"

Bushido grunted something wordless and leaned back on the bed, expression somewhere between rage and stumped. "Give me the combination, right now."

"I don't have it!" Bill exclaimed, defiant. "Why would I? I'm the commodity, Grand Master Bushido. Only Tom, _my master_ , has it."

Bushido reached out for him again, large hand grasping for Bill's wrist.

"Don't!" Bill cried, skittering back. He was very much aware that not all sex acts required access to what he'd denied to Bushido. "If you put anything in my mouth, I'll bite..."

With a deep sigh that bordered on a groan, Bushido lapsed back against the bed. "Kid, I'm not going to have you unwilling," he said. There was a grudging sort of resignation to his features now. "Come on, sit down. I'd hoped to get you to the point where you _want_ to, with me. But I'm not gonna take you by force."

Bill stared at him, uncomprehending. When Bushido moved to pat the bedspread beside him, he skittered back another step.

Bushido sighed again, shaking his head. His dark eyes were a peculiar mix of amused, and sad.

“I want to see Tom,” Bill said, keeping his thighs pressed together, chin held at a stubborn angle. “He's got the combination. I won't--”

“I get it,” Bushido said, sounding reluctant. He got up from the bed. Before Bill could take another step back, the other man moved around the side of the bed, going over to a long, narrow table pushed up against the wall. He picked up a control remote and touched a button, flipping on the display that was set into the wall. “Relax, kid. That has to be uncomfortable.”

“It's not coming off until I see Tom!” Bill replied, defiant.

Bushido rubbed at his face. He tilted the control remote, turning it around to make use of it keyboard-style. “Well played, kid. I didn't realize you were that desperate--”

“Desperate enough to throw myself off the side of the building, if I didn't have this,” Bill said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bushido raised his brows. He shook his head, muttering as though to himself, “Teenagers...everything's the fucking end of the world.” He made a sour face and turned his attention to the display.

There was a news program on, scrolling golden figures at the bottom of the display listing out House standings. Bill watched Bushido bring up a search window and type in “Kaulitz,” then hit enter.

“Whoops,” Bushido said, clicking the top listing. “I don't think that's it...”

A newscast program maximized out the display window. “--breaking news on the Noble House Kaulitz,” a well-groomed young woman was telling the screen, her eyes fixed on the camera lens, expression earnest. “We return you to this afternoon's clip from the David Jost show, with special guest Lord Tom Kaulitz himself.”

“That wasn't general search results,” Bushido said, lifting his remote wand. “I'm looking for personal sequence info.”

“Don't!” Bill cried, stretching his hand out and taking several steps forward as the newscast cut away, replaced with a shot of Tom's glorious features that filled the entire screen. He looked longingly at Tom, who appeared nervous onscreen, licking his lips and tugging at his ear as he shifted in his seat. “Wait, one minute, it's about Tom; just...don't. Please, Bushido.”

Bushido mumbled something and seated himself on the edge of the bed, passing a hand over his short-cropped hair.

The shot widened to establish two features against a mocked-up cityscape background, both seated in black lacquered chairs that resembled coiled springs. The older man was lean-featured, dark-haired, and gestured as he spoke, seeming to contain a great deal of energy. Bill had never been allowed to watch David Jost's 'cast, but he recognized him nonetheless. He was a hero figure to the slave sub-culture, though they dared not show it openly.

“Now, Lord Tom, you've told me something very shocking,” David Jost said, extending a hand toward Tom as though inviting him to speak. “I've been lecturing against the commodity industry for...well, probably your entire lifetime, and now you've come forward in a very brave manner to speak up about your own experience?”

Tom nodded, licking at his lips again, grimacing before appearing to recognize the invitation to speak that Jost had given him. “Yes...Yes, my own father, Lord Jorg Kaulitz, sold my twin brother into slavery,” he said, glancing from Jost to the camera. His lips compressed and his gaze flicked back to Jost.

“That's appalling,” Jost exclaimed, running both hands back over his short dark hair. “Absolutely unbelievable – your own twin brother. Why on this soil would Lord Jorg do something so reprehensible, so illegal?”

“It's got something to do with inheritance law,” Tom spoke up, glancing at the camera again before fixing his eyes on his lap. His hands were knotted together. “We're twins, you know? So neither of us can inherit over the other. My father sold my twin, Bill, to keep the House Kaulitz property under one son, one line."

Tom looked directly into the camera now. “Me.”

Jost made another noise, low and sympathetic. “How did you find this out, Lord Tom?”

Tom regarded his knees for a moment. He transferred his attention to Jost again. “Sorry, this is...”

“It's okay,” Jost soothed him. “It's a horrible situation. I understand. Take your time, Lord Tom.”

Tom's head dipped; he was licking his lips again, the nervous gesture wringing Bill's heart like a vise. "I bought him," he said, one hand coming up to tug his ear again. "I never knew I'd had a twin. I bought Bill for my first courtesan, and when my father did everything to block the sale, I started looking into why." He swallowed harshly.

"And that was when you found out?" Jost prompted.

"Yes...no, well...sort of," Tom said, flustered. "Bill and I, we noticed some similarities. How could we not? We're identical twins."

From the corner of his eye, Bill could see Bushido turn to look at him. Heat filled Bill's face like water pouring into a cup, but he was focused completely on the 'cast.

"When I tried to confront my father, he only became more angry, went further to block my access to the assets I needed to pay off Bill's purchase price," Tom continued. He frowned, looking down a moment before switching his gaze to Jost again. "I, I was always opposed to slavery, I've been following your 'casts for a long time. But with Bill and me, there was this...this instant connection. Of course, there was no way to know. We..." He trailed off, hands clenching in his lap.

"You were together," Jost said, nodding. "What happened then, Lord Tom?"

Tom stared toward the camera again, his jaw tense, muscles flexing. "He took Bill from me. Made sure he was sold to someone else."

A window appeared in the upper right corner of the display, widening and elongating until Bill could make sense of the image. A hand flew to his mouth. It was _him_ \- a picture of himself without makeup, a snapshot taken on the grid only days before his sale. The picture was enlarged, and Tom was slotted into one half of the display. Bill's picture filled the other half. Side by side with Tom onscreen, the focus on both their faces, the complete and total mirror-image resemblance was unmistakable.

"Interscope sold Bill out from behind my back, while I was working with legal counsel to determine my options," Tom stated, anger flowing over his face, thinning his mouth again.

The picture of Bill dissolved and the display panned out on Tom and Jost once more.

The 'cast host hitched forward in his chair. "And you found some ultimate corroboration of your bond, didn't you?"

"Yes," Tom confirmed. "Today, I was able to reach my mother--"

Bill's mind was full of roaring white noise. He'd been so focused on the other half of his life; the father he'd never known, the newly-discovered aspects of Tom, that it hadn't occurred to think of that other source from which he'd sprung. He stood riveted as Bushido rose from the edge of the bed.

"This is some gods-damned karmic joke," Bushido exclaimed, and began to laugh.

Bill could sense the man's stare from the corner of his eye, but he was still fixated on the display. The camera was panning out again, and a neat, dark-haired woman, her hair pulled back from her face, was joining Tom and Jost from one side of the stage. Bill could see nothing else. The similarity was in angles of bone, the length of her nose, even her mouth to a degree.

"Lady Simone Trümper," Jost greeted her. "Thank you for joining us today."

"My mother," Bill whispered. He was overwhelmed, again. He'd never thought to have so much in his life.

Before he could do anything – step forward, reach for the screen, crumple to the bed – the display was interrupted with a loud chime, an alert.

"Sorry," Bushido said, raising his remote wand. The 'cast clicked off, switching over to an incoming request for house entry.

Bill couldn't even make a noise of protest before Bushido pressed more buttons, and the 'accept request' option flashed onscreen.

"Grand Master Bushido." A uniformed man loomed large in the wall display.

The sudden appearance of a stranger, a police agent in uniform made Bill want to cringe back. He reached down to haul his pants up, belatedly realizing they were still down around his thighs.

"I have a warrant for entry," the police agent continued.

Bill craned his neck to see if Tom was over the man's shoulder. His searching glances proved unnecessary in the next instant.

"On behalf of Lord Tom Kaulitz, and Lord and Lady Trümper, we're here for Lord Bill Kaulitz. We received word from Interscope, last point of transfer, that he would be here."

Bushido sighed, turning to fix Bill with a pointed look. "You are more than your fair share of trouble, beauty."

Bill had to smirk at him, noting he'd gone back from 'kid' to 'beauty' again. He put a hand on his hip. "Looks like one of us will be getting what he planned on, tonight."

Bushido stared at him, expressionless. After a moment during which Bill fretted he'd overstepped somehow, the man threw his head back and began to laugh. Shaking his head, he aimed his remote wand at the display again. "Kirke, the agent and those he's accompanying – let them in. They're here for Bill."

"Sir?" Kirke's voice questioned.

"They have the right," Bushido said, jabbing his remote wand and shutting off the display entirely. He turned to Bill, looking him full on as he finished softly, "And I have none."

Bill's mouth skewed. He wasn't supposed to feel sorry for the man who'd bought him away from Tom.

Checking one last time to ensure that his pants were fastened, at least well enough to hold until later, Bill hurried for the door with renewed vigor in his step.

"Hey."

Bushido was fast, much faster than Bill would have expected for a man so big. His hand on Bill's shoulder stopped him as they both reached the door at the same time.

"You ought to visit," Bushido told him. He raised a hand, knuckles brushing along one side of Bill's jaw before Bill could flinch, or even think to draw back. His dark eyes were intense. "You ought to come and visit me some time, you know...in a while, when you've got things figured out. Milord."

A reluctant smile touched Bill's lips. "You're the first to say it," he observed.

Bushido's smile was brilliant white in his tanned face. "Gotta be the first at something, with you." His fingers nipped beneath Bill's chin.

Now Bill drew back, self-conscious at the odd charge between their bodies. "Um," he mumbled, and ducked away, cheeks burning. He turned from Bushido and stumbled down the corridor, rubbing his arms as though he expected to get struck by lightning. He'd wake in a tangle of sheets, he thought, and find himself dazed beside Tom with the two of them running out of options again. It was more than Bill had ever expected, to find himself beside someone like Tom to begin with.

He paused on the verge of the main room, worried all over again. There was a small group of people clustered at the far end; the police agent Bill had seen on Bushido's wall display, an unfamiliar man, the dark-haired woman... As Bill froze up, his pulse throbbing like hummingbird wings beneath his skin, he fixed on the fourth person in their group. Tom's head snapped around as though Bill had called his name.

"Tomi," Bill whispered.

Tom's eyes were wide; he started toward Bill.

Bill pushed away from the wall, not stopping to wonder when he'd leaned on it to begin with, and covered the distance between them in long strides. He rushed for Tom, stopping a few steps short when the fear rose up within him again, swallowing everything else. Twins, he was reminded; Tom had rushed out that morning shortly after the revelation. He'd brushed off Bill's reaching hand. If Tom didn't want him...

Before Bill could complete the thought, he was in Tom's arms as Tom seized him. Hands patted over his shoulders, stroked up his neck, took his face and cradled it as Tom looked into his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Tom demanded, not waiting for an answer before taking Bill into his arms, straining their bodies close. "Did he...?"

"He tried, but he couldn't," Bill murmured, wrapping his arms around Tom's waist and closing his eyes, happiness spilling over into every part of him as he inhaled, imparting comfort from the very scent of Tom.

"Couldn't?" Tom returned, starting to pull back.

"I'll explain later," Bill promised, clinging to Tom in order to keep from separating. "For right now..."

"I'm going to take you home," Tom filled in the blank. He held Bill every bit as tight in return.

Over his shoulder, Bill met the eyes of the dark-haired woman, whose hands were clasped together so hard her knuckles had gone white. Her smile was stricken, someplace between ecstatic and devastated, as though Bill had performed a miracle simply by standing before her.

"Bill," Simone Trümper greeted him. Tears stood out at the corners of her eyes; one glimmered down her cheek. "We've come to set you free."


	21. Coming Home

The luxury-class flitter of the Trümper household sped over darkened estate lands and glowing clusters of mansion lights as it winged swiftly on its course for Kaulitz lands. Ensconced in a comfortable lounge that was wide enough to accommodate four, Tom held Bill tucked close beside him while their mother bookended him on the other side, holding his hand and petting it as though soothing a wild creature. Every so often, Bill would tremble in Tom's grasp.

"It's a lot to take in," Tom soothed him. "We're going home now, though."

"Home," Bill repeated, lifting his head from where he'd burrowed against Tom's neck. "Where your father said I'd never set foot." He kept his grip on Simone's hand, but didn't look at her. With the exception of the long, incredulous glance he'd bestowed on Tom at Bushido's high rise, he had kept his face hidden from Tom, too.

"That man is not my father anymore," Tom stated, his mouth flattening to a grim line. "Not after what he did to us."

"He'll be there, though, won't he?" Bill questioned, his tones rising in dismayed inflections. "He'll stop us..."

"He won't," Simone stated.

Tom glanced over Bill's bowed, dark head to see Simone leaning forward with her eyes fixed on the front viewscreens, her normally gentle expression assuming a fierce smile. She met Tom's searching gaze and favored him with a wink.

"After Gordon used his pull to get us heard by David Jost's producer, and Jost seized on the notion of interviewing you for his afternoon 'cast, I took the liberty of discussing the particulars with the Royal Police Agency," Simone said, a hint of steel in her dulcet tones.

"You contacted the RPA?" Tom exclaimed, cradling Bill against his shoulder as the slender frame tensed.

"Of course, darling," Simone said, drawing herself up straight. "They're the only agency with jurisdiction in this kind of incident, and I'm certainly not letting Jorg get away with selling our Billy into slavery...or worse."

Bill blanched and Tom prompted, "Worse?"

"If Jorg was desperate enough to sell Bill into life as a commodity, no matter how luxurious, he could have hired someone to dispose of all evidence...living or otherwise," Simone returned, not mincing words.

Another shiver swept through Bill and Tom strove to hold him closer, turning his head to nudge his nose against Bill's temple, placing a small kiss there.

"If they act as quickly on the information as I trust they will," Simone continued, sounding satisfied, "we may arrive in time to witness a very satisfying scene, indeed."

"I'm a Kaulitz?" Bill spoke up, sounding dazed. "I don't...this can't be real. I'm going to wake up, in bed with Tom. We have one more day...one more day to figure out what to do before Hoffmann takes me away from Tom." Despite his confused words, his hand was as tight on Simone's as her grip was on him.

"That's not going to happen," Tom vowed, fierce. "You're awake, Bill. You're free, and everything I own is yours."

"Half," Simone corrected, with an odd little chuckle. "Half of House Kaulitz will be his, of course."

"No, all of it," Tom corrected. "Everything of mine is Bill's, now, too. As it should have been, all along."

Bill trembled again and Tom gave up trying to use words, for now.

The flitter touched down to an already-crowded guest pad at the Kaulitz estate. When they stood to exit the craft, Tom jostled to his feet only to find Bill clinging fast to his hand. He turned, looking down at the bowed head, black bangs falling down to hide Bill's face.

"You won't leave me now?"

The single question had Tom bending to tug Bill into his arms, holding him close before they exited the craft. "Never again," Tom vowed, stroking hair back from Bill's face. He pressed a chaste kiss to his jaw. "Nothing can separate us now; you'll see."

Outside the flitter, house lights were blazing and the outside floods were illuminating the crescent of lawn before the front door. Tom helped Bill from the craft, steadied in turn by Gordon as he stepped down.

"Gracious Kannon, you do look alike," Gordon said, grasping at Tom's shoulder. "To imagine, finding one another after all these years..."

Bill ducked his head again and Tom threw a protective arm around him, giving Gordon a warning grimace. He and Bill hadn't found the time to talk about it – about how being twins would change things between them. Tom was anxious to know whether it bothered Bill, knowing that they were twins now, given all the loving intimacies they had shared between them.

There were uniformed agents on the front lawn, and one of them was at the open door of the mansion. It appeared they had arrived at the opportune moment, close enough to see Jorg led away in constraints. Tom lifted his head, hoping to catch sight of his proud father brought low. It wouldn't be enough satisfaction to make up for a life lived without Bill, but it would be a start.

Before Tom could say anything, or consider whether he and Bill should remain where they were beside the flitter until the scene had cleared, Simone was striding forward. She made a low, angry noise in the back of her throat.

"Mama..." Tom started, stretching a hand out before he recognized it as useless. He had inherited a fair share of his stubborn nature from his mother. He began to slip his arm from around Bill, paused when Bill caught at his hand, and glanced inquiringly at his wide-eyed twin. "Come with me? This is the end, you know...they've come to arrest him for sure, and I want to watch."

Bill murmured something barely intelligible and stuck close to Tom's side as they crossed the dark expanse of lawn.

Tom was close enough to see Simone slip through the ring of uniformed police agents. They made way for her, either sympathetic to the situation or intimidated by the lioness fury that radiated off her as she moved for Jorg with purposeful strides. Tom was nearby, with Bill within the shelter of his arm, as Simone hurled furious words his way, her anger sizzling all but visible in the space between them.

"How dare you!" Simone shouted, raising up a beringed hand.

A nearby police agent stepped forward as though to interpose himself between the force of her wrath, and Jorg Kaulitz. He didn't quite make the distance.

Tom stood awed as Simone cracked an open palm across Jorg's face.

"Our son!" she yelled at him. "Our infant son, you monster! How could you do that?"

Stone-faced, Jorg held himself upright as he looked back at her. His nostrils flared. His jaw was taut, but he said nothing.

"Lady Trümper," one of the agents spoke up. "We've come here to detain Lord Jorg on the strength of your bearing witness against him for the crime of selling nobility into slavery."

Tom noted that the NPA representative wasn't sugar-coating the term. Commodities was the genteel euphemism, but they were dealing with slavery in all its disgusting reality.

"Take him," Simone ordered, lifting her chin and holding herself regally.

The agents surrounded Tom's father like a murder of crows, their black-jacketed forms closing in on him. Beside Tom, Bill trembled again and they stood watching as Jorg was led, hands constrained behind him, to the waiting police flitter.

"Come on," Tom said, resuming his walk up the path that would lead them for the front door, which was still wide open. He thought he could see the tall, upright figure of Lambert looming by one side of the open door, no doubt appalled by the proceedings unfolding right on the front doorstep. "I'm taking you home."

They passed abreast of the group of police agents hustling Jorg off under arrest. The man looked at them both, his gaze cold and sweeping like a merciless searchlight. There was no acknowledgment in his eyes, no yielding.

No regret, Tom noted. He tightened his arm around Bill when his twin stumbled, and led him for the front steps.

Simone was giving them both a brilliant smile as they reached her. "My boys," she said fondly, and looked startled, as though a thought had occurred at that very moment. "My lords." She said the honorific in formal tones, her bearing regal.

Tom grinned at her. Beside him, Bill made a disbelieving noise.

"Thank you for all your help on this, mama," Tom spoke up. "I couldn't have done this without you – I needed your witness, and Gordon's connections to the media got us onto Jost's 'cast...he couldn't silence us once we'd been heard by so many."

"I think the two of you have had a very trying day," Simone said, sizing them up and approaching in a whirl of understated perfume.

Tom shook his head, weary. "You have no idea, mama..."

She enveloped both of them in a hug. "I'd like to visit you, though, and soon? To spend some time with you, and get to know Bill."

"Join us for breakfast tomorrow," Tom said, pleased when Bill produced a vaguely affirmative noise beside him.

Simone nodded, gave Bill's cheek a tender touch, and moved off to where Gordon had taken up a waiting stance further on down the lawn. Her eyes shimmered, but she was off before Tom could speak up again.

Tom wanted to sway on the spot. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten – there had been a catering table at Jost's studio, but he had been too keyed up with nerves to force anything down. He vaguely remembered coffee at some point during his day. There was one more hurdle to overcome, though, and Bill was a sweet weight on his arm, reminding Tom that there was someone depending on him.

They took the front steps together. Bill was slow beside him, and Tom bent a worried glance to him. Bill seemed drawn, his brown eyes dazed. Numb, surely in shock. Hopefully soon, Tom would be able to prove to him that everything was as it ought to be, at last.

At the top of the steps, a lone RPA representative awaited them. He bowed low as Tom and Bill approached.

"Milords," he greeted them. "Our sincerest regrets that such a tragedy befell you."

"We appreciate your swift action on our behalf," Tom replied. He glanced longingly for the warm golden interior of the house. It had been Gordon Trumper's influence, he knew, in getting the right person to move in on their behalf.

"There will be a deposition before a judge," the agent continued, "and so I urge you to retain legal counsel. You will need to marshal evidence supporting the charges."

"Yes, of course," Tom replied. He couldn't keep himself from stealing glances at Bill, who looked wrung out where he stood. Moreover, there was something missing from his demeanor - the sparkle of joy Tom might have expected at his liberation, that he'd showed at their reunion, was absent.

"Then I will take my leave," the agent said. "Farewell. An agent will be in touch."

"Thank you," Tom said in all sincerity. 

The man departed, and Tom steered them for the door. He glanced up, defensive, as Lambert loomed in the door, tall and expressionless as ever. If there were any more obstacles between now and spending quality reassurance time on Bill, there would be carnage. Lambert had been with the family as long as Tom could recall – since his grandfather's middle years – and if anyone would set the tone for the House's reception of Bill, it would be their butler.

“Welcome home, milord Tom,” the man stated, his expression shifting not one whit. “Milord Bill. It's a relief to have you back. May I arrange for accommodations, milord?”

“I'll take care of it,” Tom said, as Bill blinked over at the house butler. “Have refreshments sent up to my quarters, all right? We're starved.” He wasn't, yet – he was light-headed, but running on pure adrenaline, still. If the day had been anywhere near as harrowing for Bill as for Tom, though, neither of them had eaten and they would want to, once they were able to calm down.

“As you say, sir,” Lambert murmured. He secured the doors behind them.

Tom whisked Bill through grand halls, not so modern as Interscope's perhaps, but finely appointed, each painting, tapestry, and side-table selected with careful precision by Jorg's consultants to display the genteel wealth of the house. He didn't give a damn for any of it; he wasn't giving Bill a tour. As Bill began to sniffle, rubbing at his face with the back of a hand, Tom caught sight of tears and hastened their pace.

"No...oh, no, Bill..." Tom said, awkward and rushed as they turned for the last corridor that would bring them to Tom's quarters. "Don't cry, please..." He tightened his arm around Bill and the fear returned - that this was a hollow victory for them both, that he'd gotten Bill returned to him only to have him taken away in another sense. Twins, brothers, but by Bill's decision, no longer lovers?

Bill sniffed harder, almost a sob. There were tears trickling down his face now and he wiped at them with an impatient hand. He shook his head as though to tell Tom it was out of his control.

"Here, it's okay," Tom soothed, opening the door to his quarters and ushering Bill through. "Here we are, this is my room. Bill...Bill, what can I..."

Silent tears poured down Bill's face as he turned to Tom. His face worked once, twice, as though he was attempting speech, and instead shook his head again before reaching out for a hug.

Heart thudding unevenly, Tom gathered Bill into his arms and guided him over to a nearby couch. It was deep-seated, with only two cushions. "What is it?" Tom asked, anxious. "Did Bushido hurt you? He reached up with a sleeve to wipe Bill's tears away.

Bill gave a small hiccup and leaned into Tom's touch. A few last tears spilled free and Tom caught them, dampening his sleeve again. Their eyes met and Bill stretched forth, his lips pursing in a clear invitation for a kiss.

Tom's eyes widened. His heart shot into a joyful stratosphere like an unfettered flitter.

Bill drew back as though Tom had slapped him. His face reddened and he began to stammer. "I didn't...I'm not..." he said, and gulped, scrubbing at one black-ringed eye with an air of abject misery.

"What?" Tom coaxed, bewildered as to why Bill had pulled away. Couldn't he tell this was what Tom wanted? "You said you'd tell me later, about Bushido. Why he couldn't. Are you hurt?"

Bill's shoulders bent and a muffled noise issued from him that alarmed Tom for an instant before he realized Bill was chuckling. It was a gasping near-sob that tore at Tom's self-control. He clasped at Bill's shoulders, petting, attempting to soothe until Bill grinned over at him.

"That's right," Bill said, his voice altogether too weak and unstable for Tom's comfort, but he was no longer crying. "I need your help, Tomi; can you take it off?"

Tom blinked at him, confused until Bill wriggled in his arms and turned around, riding his pants down with one hand. “Unlock it for me?”

Tom stared. “My beautiful, smart Bill,” he said, astounded. Bill was wearing the chastity belt. 

“Even if you hadn't come for me, he wasn't going to be able to...you know,” Bill explained, shifting himself on the couch to fully divest himself of his pants. “He was going to have to let me see you again, no matter what.”

With hurried fingers, Tom entered the combination, unlocking the belt and pulling off the waist strap. “All right,” he said, helping Bill out of the other pieces. “After this we're definitely going to fucking burn it.”

He tossed the belt aside and found himself with an armful of Bill.

“I'm sorry,” Bill said, stroking his face with a curious hand, as though encountering Tom for the first time after a long absence, or perhaps trying to memorize his features. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...to kiss you, if you don't want...”

Tom was shaking his head before Bill could even get the words out. “What are you talking about?”

Bill bit his lip, dark eyes wary but filled with sudden hope. “I thought you wouldn't want to, anymore...I mean, with me. Because we're--”

“Mine,” Tom interrupted, placing a hand over Bill's mouth, stopping the flow of nonsensical words. To not want Bill was unthinkable. “You promised me, didn't you? Mine forever.”

Bill nodded slowly, pursing his lips against Tom's palm and causing Tom to chuckle.

“As I'm yours,” Tom replied, quietly fervent. “Too late, Bill. You can't take it back now.”

Bill made an inquisitive noise and Tom took his hand away, replacing it with his lips. Wordless, he showed Bill everything he wanted of him. Bill's mouth told him in turn that he'd missed him, wanted him.

“Heart, body, and soul,” Bill murmured when Tom let him up for breathing room. “Tomi... _Tomi._ ”

Tom's hand had wandered low on Bill's waist, stroking over exposed skin. “I thought _you_ wouldn't want to, anymore,” he admitted. “I mean, you don't have to. We can be brothers, and nothing more.”

Bill climbed into his lap, cupping Tom's face between his hands and grounding his gaze securely in a pair of fiercely-determined brown eyes. “I've never wanted anything more than to be by your side,” he said. His nails dug into Tom's skin with the force of his grip and Tom was a little startled by Bill's intensity, but delighted as well. “All this means to me is that I can be your partner in everything, for the world to see.”

Tom broke into a delighted grin, the likes of which he couldn't recall – not since seeing Bill after that high bid, perhaps, or the morning after they'd first made love.

“Now,” Bill said, all but purring. He stroked his hands from Tom's face down his neck and chest and quirked an expectant brow. “We haven't been intimate since last night, milord.”

“It's Tom, only Tom now,” Tom was quick to correct him. “We're of equal status, now, Bill.”

Bill's smile widened. “It's starting to sink in,” he said. “I was thinking that 'milord' would be a bit of a kink, don't you? A pet name, perhaps...”

Tom groaned quietly as Bill's hand found the fastenings of his trousers and stroked him through the heavy fabric. “I see your implication,” he rasped. He reached up for Bill, wanting everything all at once. He wanted to kiss the tearstains away, fit their mouths together again. He wanted to lie side by side with Bill and assure him they had forever, if they liked. “Being my twin isn't enough of a kink?”

“It doesn't seem real yet,” Bill breathed, before closing his lips at the base of Tom's throat and dabbling his tongue there, kissing and sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Tom tried to smother a moan, lifting his hips and fitting his arms around Bill. They should move it to the bed, he thought, and _soon_.

The knock to the door made them both jump, disentangling to sit upright. Tom knuckled at one temple with a quiet noise of anguish.

“The food and drink,” he said, and rose from the couch. “They'll want to come in and bring it to a table, so...”

With reluctance, Bill reached for his pants.

“We'll have to get you all new things,” Tom commented, and couldn't help but grin at the illuminated look that swept over Bill's features. The prospect of shopping was a treat that wouldn't wear off soon, he had the feeling. “The family account is yours now, too.”

Tom opened the door to his quarters only to find Lambert at the threshold. As serving food had never been part of the butler's job description, Tom stood gaping for a moment.

“May I serve,” Lambert said, with aplomb. He balanced a tray laden with drinks and platters on one sturdy shoulder.

“Um, yes, of course.” Tom stepped aside.

“The household is in an uproar,” Lambert stated, carrying the tray to the dining nook where Tom was accustomed to eating many a meal, when not having formal dinner with his father and varied guests. “You may wish to address the staff in the morning. For this evening, I have taken the liberty of informing all in residence that our lords do not wish to be disturbed for the remainder of the night.”

“It's no liberty,” Tom said, catching sight of Bill drawing near. He gave him an encouraging smile and Bill headed for the table, eyes lighting up when he saw the uncovered platters. “Thank you for the suggestion, Lambert. We'll have a word in the morning – and my mother will be over for breakfast, probably no earlier than ten.”

“I will bespeak the kitchen,” Lambert said, and bowed low. “Good night, milords.”

Tom approached Bill to join him at the table, brushing black hair aside to place a kiss at his nape. As his lips lingered over black-inked flesh, he traced below the marque with a light finger.

“I will bear it for the rest of my life,” Bill said, in quiet certitude. He set down a biscuit and turned, settling his hands at Tom's neck, toying with a few dreadlocks.

“You shouldn't--” Tom started, placing his own hands low on Bill's waist, near to those tempting, tiny hips.

“I'm of House Kaulitz,” Bill said, raising his chin, “and I'm yours, and this – what happened to me – it will always be a part of who I am.”

Tom nodded, but couldn't quite suppress a frown. “Let's get you fed,” he said, changing the subject. In the morning, there would be inquiries to deal with – he would be surprised if the House line was _not_ flooded with calls – and their mother, and they would have to see to a lawyer, and the myriad other details associated with keeping what was now theirs.

“And then?” Bill prompted, his dark eyes sweet as an open-ended promise.

“Then we exchange those intimacies you mentioned,” Tom asserted. He bent to seal it with a kiss.

Bill responded with enthusiasm, making it impossible for Tom to disengage. As it should ever be, Tom hoped; for the rest of their lives.


	22. Freedom

“We're going to have morning coffee this way for the rest of our lives,” Bill declared, stretching his arms wide above his head and riding up the sleeves of the silk robe he had thrown over his skinny frame to protect Lambert's sense of propriety.

“Sounds like perfection to me,” Tom agreed, half-draped over Bill's nearest thigh and dropping his typical three cubes of sugar into the Turkish thick coffee to leaven the bitter brew.

Bill had woken that morning with a vastly different outlook on life. After a single instant of terror, imagining himself spirited away, remembering the bottom dropping out from his world when he had been re-sold, he'd opened his eyes to Tom's face. That look of adoration on Tom's sleepy, recently roused face had brought everything tumbling back in a heady wave of recollection.

He was free; he was a Noble, master of the House alongside Tom; and best of all, his Tomi loved him, and had expressed it physically to their mutual satisfaction the night before.

“Though,” Bill mused aloud, “unto a point of soreness and we will need to take a break from _that_.”

Tom, already accustomed to Bill's habit of finishing thoughts aloud, smiled and brought his coffee to his lips to hide it. His eyes were both imploring and wicked as he drank. After wiping at his mouth, he commented, “There are plenty of other delightful pleasures to be had...”

“Yes,” Bill said, and needled Tom, “You could let _me_.”

Tom's eyes widened. “Cheeky,” he commented, but didn't say no.

Bill sighed happily and nestled deeper into his double embrace of pillows and Tom. They were taking their coffee abed, enjoying the luxury of a late morning after waking and kissing and caressing each other until satisfied that neither of them would be disappearing. And after a shower, to freshen up in anticipation of their lady mother. Speaking of...

“What time is Lady Trumper arriving for breakfast?” Bill asked, prodding his newfound twin and determinedly-kept lover in the ribs.

“Half past ten; I checked,” Tom said, and pinched Bill's thigh, making him twitch and contemplate vengeance. “You should get used to calling her Mama as I do, or Mother, at least.”

“It's so strange to me,” Bill protested. “All my life, I grew up with no family...”

“And now you have a wealth of it,” Tom said, laying his head on Bill's knee. His dark eyes fixed on Bill's somber ones. There was a question in their depths that he wasn't asking.

“More than I ever expected, but everything I could ever have wanted,” Bill assured him.

Tom inhaled, almost a quick sigh, and turned his head, placing a kiss on the skin of Bill's thigh above his knee. “There will be plenty of questions, you know,” he said, rueful. “When we've resolved the charges against Father...against Jorg for good and you've entered society by my side. It's not so common that all of society will _not_ be abuzz with prurience over whether we are partnered in every sense.”

“I'll tell them most graciously and diplomatically to tend their own yards before touring others',” Bill assured him, grinning in a cheerful but somewhat manic fashion. He was looking forward to entering Noble society with a predatory vengeance. Even before, when he'd thought himself nothing more elevated than Tom's courtesan, the prospect had thrilled him.

"They're going to love you," Tom said with a snort. He reached for Bill's hand and kissed the palm of it before setting his teeth there, too light to leave a mark. He kissed Bill's fingers and released his hand. "No, truly, you'll be the talk of the upper levels for a good, long while. It will shake everything up, and you'll bring a breath of fresh air to all those stuffy salons. You're something new and unique to them entirely."

"Now you're making me nervous," Bill replied, giving Tom a small laugh. He had been trained in etiquette for most of his life, but all of it had been geared to being a courtesan serving members of the upper castes, not being one of them, himself. He'd rely on Tom for a great deal. He reached out to toy with a handful of Tom's unbound dreadlocks. "There's something that I still don't quite understand. Our father...Jorg. He sold me in order to preserve the Kaulitz line of inheritance?"

"To keep it all under one line, yes," Tom agreed, sitting up and reaching to stroke Bill's dark hair in turn. "It was completely pointless. As though I'd ever be parted from you."

"Oh, don't say that," Bill said with a nervous laugh. He tugged on Tom's ropy locks. "If you'd grown up with me, you would probably be sick of me by now!" A sick knife twisted in his stomach. He couldn't imagine not having Tom the way they were now.

"That's not possible," Tom protested. He captured a lock of Bill's hair in one hand and pulled, his touch gentle even doing that much, and drew their faces together.

"Mmm," Bill murmured, tonguing a shining line over Tom's bottom lip before closing over it, sealing their mouths together. Of this, he could certainly never get enough. "Love you, Tomi."

"Face it, Bill," Tom said, his voice raspy when Bill let him up from their kiss at last. "This was meant to be, and no amount of Jorg's meddling could stop it. Our fortunes will never be parted."

Bill pulled away, retracting abruptly from Tom and dumping his twin unceremoniously to the rumpled wash of white sheets. He buried his face against his knees, hiding it, wrapping his silk-sheathed arms around himself to form an impromptu cocoon.

"Bill?" Tom's worried voice reached him. "Bill, what's wrong? Did I do...or say something bad?"

Peeking one dark eye from underneath the overhang of a sleeve, Bill focused on Tom's worried face. It made him smile, and flush, and possessed him of the sudden intense desire to roll over and entreat Tom to enact all of the loving intimacies they'd shared the night before all over again. And they _could_ , Bill realized, with a sudden jolt akin to shock. They were masters of the House. They could tell the rest of society to go hang.

"Bill?" Tom's voice continued, reaching an urgent pitch.

"I'm overwhelmed," Bill whispered to his knees. "It's going to take some time to get used to it all..."

A hand smoothed over one sleeve, petting his arm, stroking the back of his wrist, skin warm on his where the sleeve ended and exposed Bill's flesh. "Don't shut me out," Tom urged him.

Bill lifted his head in a swift movement, his hair mussed around his face, his cheeks warm. "Not you, not ever you, Tomi," he assured him, reaching out to cup the side of Tom's jaw. "But if sometimes, I need to take things slow..."

"You let me know, and it's done," Tom promised. "And I'll pay attention to you, Bill. If you're overwhelmed, or if it's too much..."

Bill nodded and unfurled his limbs from the compact ball he'd created of himself. He swung forward, tumbling into Tom's arms.

"Careful, the coffee--!" Tom squeaked, voice and expression more adorably youthful than Bill had ever seen him.

"We can clean it up later," Bill murmured, and kissed Tom's throat with the intention of ending up much further south.

A chime issued from the main area of Tom's quarters, the room adjoining the bedroom. They looked up with matching disgruntled expressions.

"That would be Mama," Tom informed him, sighing even as he eased his hips up to match Bill's rhythm.

"I suppose it would be very rude to make her wait fifteen minutes," Bill said, heaving a sigh of his own.

Tom's eyes rounded. " _Fifteen_ minutes, Bill? Not even the first time...or the second...no, I've never been that hasty!"

"For tidying up and getting presentable," Bill concluded, pushing off Tom and giving him a wicked grin.

"Bill, you..." Tom growled, reaching out for him with grabby hands.

Bill eluded him, rolling off the bed. He was fully prepared to retreat around one side. "We have to get ready, don't we?" he said with a laugh. "Come on, Lady Tr-- I mean, our lady mother is waiting for us. We can come back to bed later."

Tom broke into a grudging smile. "Your logic is sound," he allowed.

"And we should get ready separately," Bill concluded. He pointed imperiously toward the walk-in closet that Tom had showed him that morning, when Bill had been flailing about for something to pull over his nudity.

Tom grumbled something that finished up with the word 'bossy' but obediently rolled for that side of the bed. "I see how it's going to be," he said, casting an impish glance over his shoulder. "Nagging wife vertically, docile partner horizontally, huh?"

Bill's mouth dropped open. "I am _not_ a woman, Tom!" He unlaced the front of his robe. "Come back here and I'll prove it!"

"No time," Tom called to him. "Put some pants on and we'll go have breakfast with mama."

It was Bill's turn to grumble, and cast about for suitable clothing. In all the bustle of being taken from one place to the next, and the next, he had no idea where his clothes were, either the ones that had come with him from House Ebel, or the ones Tom had taken him shopping in order to acquire. He was going to have to put on something of Tom's, which suited him not at all, because Tom wore the loosest styles on the market. That didn't work for Bill, who preferred not to dangle.

"Tommm," Bill called out, throwing aside an armful of clothes. "I hate all of your pants. Where's the nearest lighter?"

Tom appeared from the walk-in, loose dreadlocks spilling over his bare shoulder, mouth rounded in a speechless 'o.' "You're not burning my pants, Bill."

"But they're all so big!" Bill complained. "I'm not going to wear over-sized clothes to meet our mother again. I'll be squirming the whole time."

Tom blinked at him. "Lambert brought the cases with your stuff; they're in the outer room."

Bill clapped his hands and bounced from the bedroom, eager to tear through his cases to find something fitting.

As he unsnapped the nearest case, Bill had to pause. He was staggered for a moment, yet again, as the realization impacted him that this was real, that he was here. He and Tom were together, and Bill could fill the mansion to overflowing with new clothes if he so desired. Tom had as much promised that they'd go shopping again soon.

After dithering nearly his entire time allowance over which shirt to wear from the ones he'd pulled by armfuls from the cases, Bill startled when a pair of arms slid around his middle. He recognized Tom and relaxed, dissolving into a grin.

"Wear this one," Tom recommended, plucking up a black shirt with red designs blazoned over the front.

"Hmm," Bill mumbled, but swept it out of Tom's hands and lifted it up, as though comparing it against a mental image of himself. He twisted out of Tom's grip as his twin held him prisoned in a close hold, almost but not quite easing against him from behind. "No...nooo, Tom, I'm getting dressed. Go stand over there."

Tom pouted, but kissed his ear and retreated to a discreet distance without leaving the room.

Bill hurried, aware of Tom's eyes on him the entire time. He had to force himself to remember the prospect of their mother waiting in an outer salon in order to actually don his clothing and not go jump Tom that instant. Their eyes met more than once and Bill couldn't stop his mouth from tugging up into an incredulous, delighted smile on each occasion.

"And now some makeup," he murmured, turning for the bathroom.

"No makeup," Tom declared, rubbing at his thighs before getting up from the couch. "We don't have time, Bill; we've kept mama waiting long enough."

"No, you can't make me!" Bill squealed, dancing back as Tom approached. "Tom, my face is _naked!_ "

"But you're dressed now," Tom insisted, moving too quick for Bill and catching him in a tight hold. "Come on, we have to go. No more stalling."

Bill squirmed, anxious flutters rising up in his stomach. "What if she doesn't like me?" he whispered, tense.

Tom's hands cupped his face, drawing Bill's attention to his warm, bright brown eyes. "All you have to be is yourself, and that's perfect."

The flutters increased. "But, she--" Bill started.

Tom cut him off, mouth closing over his with slow promise. Bill let his eyes fall shut and enjoyed the moment, the warm comfort of Tom's lips on his, the delicious implications for later.

"Let's go," Tom said, tugging at a lock of Bill's hair before disentangling their bodies.

"No fair," Bill complained, though he let himself be drawn along by the grip Tom had on his hand. "You caught me off guard..."

"She's our mother, Bill," Tom said, lacing their fingers together as they left the suite. "She's going to love us, and you, no matter what, okay?"

Bill had his own opinions on that, but he had never had a mother before, only female chaperones, so he was going to have to take Tom's word.

Tom guided them to a dining room that opened onto a landscaped view etched in brilliant morning light. A single figure was seated at one of the chairs to one side. She rose at once, heading for them with eager strides.

Simone Trumper was a petite woman with masses of dark hair. Though Bill was only sixteen, and hadn't reached his full growth, he could look down on the top of her head as he and Tom approached. She was beaming at him with such a familiar smile, her eyes crinkled in happy welcoming lines as Tom drew him forward without stopping.

"Bill," she said, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands, mirroring the gesture that Tom had performed not so long ago. "Bill, oh, my Bill! I'm so happy to see you." Tears stood out in her eyes without falling. Tom disentangled their fingers as Simone enfolded him.

"Mama?" Bill said, hesitant and trying it out.

Simone made a noise, a stifled sort of sob, and all but crushed Bill against her. "Billy. There hasn't been a day that went by when I didn't think of you," she informed him, speaking near to his ear where her face was pressed into his shoulder.

Bill said nothing, overwhelmed. He had wondered, from time to time, what his birth mother was like, but commodities raised as he had been were never to know, in order to avoid developing any sense of familial attachment. This truly was more than Bill had ever expected, in every sense. He stroked Simone's upper back and looked over at Tom, unsure what to do.

Tom merely grinned back at him, folding his arms and watching the two of them as Simone petted Bill's back and kept making quiet happy noises.

"All right, I know you're a grown man already, but..." Simone pulled back at last, patting his shoulders and looking at his face as though trying to memorize each part of him. She tilted her head to one side, glanced at Tom, and transferred her gaze back to Bill, still smiling. "My darling boys."

"Would you like to sit next to me, at breakfast?" Bill put forth, somewhat shy. She was familiar due to the resemblance, he supposed, yet entirely new to him.

Simone beamed.

Bill held out a hand for Tom as they moved into place at the table, indicating he wanted Tom at his other side. With a wink, Tom sat at Bill's right, leaving him at the head of the table.

"This doesn't seem quite right," Bill observed.

"We're both the Heads of household now, Bill," Tom informed him, propping his chin on a hand and regarding him with a gaze both besotted and indulgent. "Now that fa—Jorg is in jail..."

"And likely to stay there a good, long while," Simone stated, her tone sharp. "I, for one, will be seeing that charges are pressed against him to the full extent of our laws."

"Yes, I will, as well," Tom said, his scowl equally fearsome, so similar to the one on Simone's face. "Where's Gordon this morning?"

"He wanted to give us the time to get acquainted, darling," Simone said, reaching out to pat the back of Bill's wrist before taking up her cutlery. A young man at the margin of the room came forward to lift silver domes off breakfast platters, releasing mouth-watering aroma and puffs of steam. "We'll have to join you for dinner, or have you over, when Bill is a bit more at ease."

Tom nodded, drawing Bill's attention from the breakfast food that he was transferring over to his plate. "We've got a lot of appointment making ahead of us. Legal, and we'll have to track down people from both Houses who were involved in the sale..."

"And a DNA marker test, don't forget, Tom," Simone said, raising a small fork. "That will be your conclusive evidence right there."

Bill wrinkled his nose and wondered if he could enact a ban on unpleasant mealtime conversation. Tom's hand covered his before Bill could get much further than thinking about voicing his discomfort.

"We should save that kind of talk for later," Tom said. "I'm sure we'll get more than our fill of each and every detail – it's probably big news in the shining city already."

"You're that young Kaulitz lord who bought a courtesan who turned out to be his twin; a chance encounter unlike any seen in our nation's history," Simone agreed with a rueful twist of her mouth. Her keen gaze went to their interlocked fingers. "Are you still...that is, do you intend to keep on...?" She trailed off, her delicate pause more of an unstated exclamation.

"We're the Heads of house now," Tom said. His hand tightened on Bill's. "We can do as we like."

Simone nodded, raising a napkin to cover her smile. "As you say, milords."

* * *

"I love our mother, but I thought she was never going to leave," Tom declared, stretching both hands above his head until his loose sleeves rode up his arms.

"She's wonderful," Bill defended at once, though he was already winding himself around Tom from behind, one hand stealing up the shirt that had ridden up to expose a crescent of belly.

"She is," Tom allowed, biting back a statement on how Bill hadn't gotten to know her well enough for prolonged visits to grate on the nerves. Bill had plenty of mothering to catch up on, and Tom wouldn't begrudge him a moment of it. "We should speak to the staff next, I suppose...and answer the five hundred or so messages that the house inbox will have gotten from everyone I know, and possibly even those I don't yet..."

"Georg?" Bill inquired, digging a thumb into Tom's hip and making him yelp with the prick of that sharp nail.

"Yes, yes, I suppose we should give Georg a call first," Tom allowed. He tried to turn with Bill in his arms but Bill clung to him, turning with him as though engaging in a dance. A warm hand stroked over Tom's lower belly.

"He was good to us," Bill said in his ear. "He gave you money, even if he couldn't do anything for us when we visited his House."

"Now I can repay him twice over," Tom replied, drawing Bill's arms more securely around him. He was re-thinking the notion of getting a courtesan for Georg, though. It had turned out all right for him, but there was the matter of someone else's say, or lack thereof, in being purchased as a commodity.

Bill kissed the back of his neck. "All of those things are well and good, and we'll need to go through the entire list, but there's something more important to which we should attend..."

"Back to bed?" Tom inquired, hopeful. They hadn't had the leisure to enjoy one another that morning, so he was hoping to go for it before they tackled their immense list together. Tom was planning on introducing Bill with every returned call that the House line had fielded; aside from a big debut party, it would be an easy entry into society.

Bill mrrphed and released him, insinuating himself beneath Tom's arm and bringing them nose to nose. "Something much bigger," he said, his eyes wide and dark and hopeful, preventing Tom from making an immediate crack regarding large important things and their imminence where Bill was concerned. "Tom, can you get me a birthday present?"

Tom couldn't stop himself from kissing the tip of Bill's nose when duly presented with it. "I owe you sixteen years' worth of them, I don't see why not...what do you want, love?"

"I want you to abolish slavery," Bill said serenely, his expression radiating absolute confidence in Tom's ability to accomplish it.

Tom took this in stride; he nodded and twined his fingers with Bill's. "We'll make it happen, then." He smiled to match Bill's certainty.

They were together, now; they could do anything.


End file.
